


Haven

by Xela



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Betrayal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Good Intentions, Healing, Injury Recovery, Manipulation, Memory Alteration, Memory Magic, My teenage love for Spike let me show you it, Not kind to Angel, Post-Chosen, Post-Episode: s07e22 Chosen, Self-Esteem Issues, Spike Whump, Temporary Amnesia, Whump, self sacrificing idiots, the sire Spike deserves, vampire adoption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 58,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Chosen spin off.  After Sunnydale collapses, Spike is rescued by a group of very powerful people...but their motives are shrouded in mystery. Spike has a long journey ahead of him, but will his journey lead him to Buffy?</p><p>I wrote this in 2007. It was my first long fic. I updated it in 2011 to make it marginally less embarrassing. I don't think I succeeded. But enjoy my teenage ridiculousness!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

 

He could feel her pain, her shock at his dismissal.

_She thinks she loves me._

But she couldn’t stay. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t do it if she were here. He was doing this for her, because he was HER champion. So he was sacrificing his unlife and the possibility that she really did mean it for her and the Bit, and if she died...anyways, the Bit needed her. Warmth crept up his arm, and he looked down to see their hands joined and flaming. Its simplicity was beautiful, but he didn’t have time to analyze the symbolism. He smiled a goodbye and began untangling their hands. She turn and ran. He watched the uber vamps surge towards the exit after her. This time his smile was vicious. He gave in completely to the wonder and pain filling him. Time to see how this all played out.

The light got brighter, he could feel his soul burning him from the inside out. The voices of his victims began to fade, one by one, as the power of his soul filled every inch of his body. He felt his feet lift off the floor. Spiraling up into the shaft of light, he threw back his head and laughed. He could feel himself disintegrating, his shell of a body unable to contain the sheer power that thrummed through him. He was alive and electrified, the secrets of the world were his to know. Breaking free of physical bounds he exploded outwards illuminating the vast cavern below. He pierced the hearts of the uber vamps, sought out the dark crevasses of the cavern, found the creepy crawlies, so old they no longer had names, and sent them back to the Hell that spit them out. He kept expanding until he lit every nook and cranny. For one glorious, indescribable moment, he knew absolute peace and contentment. And then he was drawn back to himself with a sickening force...and then the roof came a tumblin’ down.

***

The sun was just cresting the horizon, bathing the California landscape in a brilliant wash of colors. The world was rejoicing at another sunrise, another day. People were waking up, preparing for their day, blissfully unaware at how fragile their way of life really was. An old school bus, filled with wounded girls and a few empty bodies, ground to a stop at the very edges of the former town of Sunnydale.

A lone figure exited the bus and walked to the edge of the large crater. They had done it. They had won; the hellmouth that had dominated her life for the last seven years was no more. She was finally free of a life she had fought so hard to leave behind, of a life she had once thought she would gladly trade in for what other people thought of as ‘normal.’ There were now hundreds, thousands of slayers out in the world. Because they had won. The world would go on, people would live. People...but not Spike

A single tear made its way down Buffy’s face.

_Thank you._

***

_It hurts._

He opened his eyes but it did no good; the darkness was so complete he couldn’t tell when his eyes were open. He couldn’t move at all, couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t even breath. And then the pain set in. It consumed him until it was all had ever known and the only thing he could ever be sure of. It became his past, his present, and unquestioningly his future. He spent centuries there in the dark, alone with his demons. Their voices haunted him, mocked him, accused him. He was caught within his own mind having no breath to deny them and no body to distract him. The voice screamed, reminded him of the atrocities he had committed, mocked his pleas for mercy. Because he’d never shown any, had he? It was hopeless, he knew that. He deserved what was happening, deserved their vitriol, their mockery, their barbed words. But still he fought them, coaxed them, and begged them to leave him alone, tried to make the darkness swallow him.

Nothing worked. The voices remained.

He saw his first kill, eyes wide and scared. She'd taken too long to kill; he'd missed the artery, inept as a first time hunter, and she'd suffered for his learning. He saw Dru as he'd first known her, as _sire_ and _lover,_ beautiful and bewitching. He saw her eyes light up as he brought her gifts, felt pleasure in her laughter, promise in her kisses, and excruciating pain as Angelus swept her into his bed. The filed past him, laid beside him in the darkness, taunted him, and he screamed the last shreds of his sanity into the darkness.

Angelus laughed at him. Laid beside him, hovered over him, and whispered words like “weak” and “helpless” and “unworthy.” Angelus whispered commentary over the most painful aspects of their twisted, tortured relationship as visions of his lessons raged across Spike's eyes. He relived every moment that made him into the monster Buffy always claimed he was. ( _get away i love you soulless monster beneath me died died died ripped away_ ) Not even Angelus could touch that pain.

The voices wouldn't stop. He realized at some point, through the haze of recriminations, that he didn't want them too. He could finally make amends.

At first the voices blended in with the others, just another part of the cacophony. Soon he realized these were louder and dissonant, disturbing the tenuous harmony of accusations, guilt, and condemnation. They intruded on his pain, disturbed what he knew. Dust sprinkled onto his face, the shock of a new sensation disrupting the unrelenting stream of inner turmoil made him shake. _Touch,_ the word sprang unbidden into his mind, and vague memories of a time long ago echoed through his mind.

“He’s here. I can feel him. Hurry!” He couldn't understand the words, but the tone of the voice was urgent and female. He didn’t quite remember what female meant, but it spoke to something in him. He desperately grasped at the voices around him, trying to shroud himself in its familiarity.

“We are working on it. Your pacing not helping ma petite feu.”

Warm air tickled Spike’s skin, and eyes he hadn’t realized were open saw a sliver of brightness cut through the blanket of darkness. What was this? There was a word for it, he knew it at one time. What was it? Light! It was light! And he felt...slayer sang through his mind and memories of vanilla and safety and home echoed through him. He wept at these new emotions. She was coming to save him, home was coming.

The darkness fled, and she was leaning over him. Everything in his body screamed slayer. A name sprang forth. Buffy. Buffy. Buffybuffybuffy. She was coming for him! Joy bubbled through him. She was coming! Home. Home. Home Jeeves, come home, come for him!

“Spike?” The voice was gentle and concerned and...wrong. There was no vanilla, no gold; there was fire and cinnamon and...protection? but no Buffy. This was the wrong kind of female. He growled, a reaction that surprised him, and a thousand faces screamed at him, yelling “murderer” and “demon” and “monster.” Disappointment settled over him and he retreated into his pain. These sensations and feelings were too powerful, too many, and too new. And none of them were Buffy. Not Buffy notBuffy notbuffy she wasn’t here she wasn’t coming his Buffy was gone. Gone gone gone, and he finally felt the numbness he'd been seeking as a piece of him slipped away.

“Shit, we’re losing him.”

He could feel power around him. And he could feel her, the slayer. The wrong slayer. But it didn’t matter anymore.

_“I love you.”_

_“No you don’t. But thanks for saying it.”_

Oh, God. He’d hurt the girl. Hurt the girl again. Hurt the girl hurt the Buffy don’t wanna hurt the Buffy-girl his Buffy Buffy’s not here notbuffy...

“Fuck, he’s not gonna make it.”

“A knife. I need a knife. Get me a fucking knife!”

He was confused. He’d hurt her, hurt his Buffy. He shouldn’t be tasting Heaven...and he slipped back into the darkness.

***

“What were you thinking? Do you have a death wish? I thought we worked through that years ago you stupid, impetuous, hard-headed, unthinking IDIOT. Do you--“

“You’re forgetting impulsive, rash, brainless, dense, reckless...”

Leto let out a shaky sigh before turning to glare at the...the...fucking SLAYER in front of him. Of all the stupid drain bramaged shit things she’d pulled over the years... “You could have died Lena,” he said softly. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She leaned into the palm of his hand and Leto felt his anger melt away. He never could stay mad at her. He could see the effects of blood loss in the paleness of her face and the sluggishness of her movements.

“Could have, didn’t, why do you think I keep you around? And regardless, I am a Slayer. I can handle a severely wounded vampire,” she said. She suddenly smiled, and Leto felt an unneeded breath catch that it was meant solely for him. “After all, I handle you on a daily basis. Spike doesn’t stand a chance.”

The vampire in question let out a low moan of pain, and Alanna's smile was gone.

“Alright boys, girls, and things. Let's load him and move him out. It's a long way home.”

**Chapter 1**

Leto threw his lanky frame into a chair as a frustrated sigh forced itself through his lips. His gold-flecked jade eyes followed the bouncy slayer as she made her way through the room. There was enough energy and fire packed into her lithe frame to fuel six people...which meant watching her was more than a spectator sport.

“You are annoyingly optimistic sometimes, Alanna,” he griped. She gave him one of her blinding smiles, the kind that was as much in her eyes as it was in her face, and he felt the room spin away. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense, her most striking feature being the burnt auburn hair cascading in a mess of curls she had long ago given up trying to tame; but she had a vivaciousness that made you look at her, remember her. She had a way of touching people, something intrinsic that encouraged and fostered an instinctive trust and goodwill. He’d seen her befriend the most jaded and abused street children, watched her step effortlessly into the good graces of the most suspicious criminal. She was genuine, completely honest--though she could deliver the most brutal news in a way that cushioned the blow if it suited her--and extremely intelligent. The twinkle in her deep brown eyes promised anyone she met an unforgettable time; he’d never met anyone who could forget Alanna. And she was scarily dangerous.

“He _will_ wake up, Leto. You can’t put a timetable on these things.” He’d also never met anyone as exceedingly optimistic as Alanna when she wanted something to happen.

“He’s been healed for weeks now. You know that the probability of someone waking up after the first week of a coma is--”

“Is a rule applicable to humans only. And he’s a vampire, remember? Nice light show on the hellmouth? City go boom boom?” Leto’s eyes narrowed at her flippancy.

“I remember. I remember you shoving your bleeding arm into that vampire’s mouth!”

“Oh, leave off!” She brushed him off like an annoying older brother. “I’m fine, not even a set of fang marks as souvenirs! Anyways, he may be physically healed, but mentally? Emotionally? That takes time.”

“Time? It’s been ages already! Even with your rather large...contribution.” He could feel a headache creeping up, the tension in his shoulders building. Spike needed to go ahead and wake up, and Alanna didn’t need to do stupidly reckless shit like shove a freshly cut arm into an unconscious vampire’s fangs.

“You do remember those...things...he was saying when we pulled him out, right? There’s no telling what he did, where he went, to survive. Though it obviously wasn’t someplace nice.” She laid a strong hand on his shoulder and began kneading away the tension she found there.

“You watched him too,” she murmured, her voice pitched soothing and low. “You know something of him. He’s hiding from reality, and I think he’s entitled to a little mental holiday. Goddess only knows what sort of tortures he came up with while buried under an entire city, drained to the point of dust. And all the shit he went through taking on the First?” She leaned over and wrapped comforting arms around him. “He’ll pull through. He has to.”

“I know. But he...I hate waiting. And six months is a long vacation Lenna.” For the first time he felt tension from the slayer.

“I know.”

***

Spike sat at the edge of a serene pond watching the sun climb lazily in the sky. Well, more like it was just hanging in the sky as it never really went anywhere; it just stayed in the same spot merrily blazing away. The pond was set in the middle of a beautiful clearing completely surrounded by trees and dense underbrush. There wasn’t a way out, the undergrowth forming a fairly solid wall around the clearing, but he didn’t really care. It was nice here. The sun glittered off the calm surface of the water, a cool breeze causing the occasional wave. He was in no hurry to leave.

Spike sighed in pleasure and stretched out, letting the sun warm him. It was a perfect day, the kind Impressionist painters waited their whole lives for the chance to capture.

“I really am a hopeless ponce,” Spike groaned to himself. No self-respecting vampire thought about paintings and beautiful days. They were all about the night, the kill...the blood. They didn’t lounge at the side of a picturesque sun soaked ponds after they saved the soddin’ world. Seriously, what kind of vampire spent his eternity reading Yeats and Chaucer and dreaming about Monet?

“You do,” a cheery voice informed him.

Yep. A beautiful day, minus the incredibly annoying chit who insisted on ruining it. She kept popping up when he was most relaxed, most content. And she wouldn't _leave_. He growled menacingly when she started poking him incessantly in the arm.

“What the bleedin’ hell do you WANT?” he roared. He’d tried to ignore her the first few times and had been treated to several of the most horrible renditions of ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ ever inflicted on mankind.

“This isn’t about what I want. I have no wants. I am purely a creation of your imagination, so what I want is actually what you want, but you’re repressing what you want in favor of satiated complacency--“

“Now I know I had to have invented you,” Spike muttered sullenly.

“Satiated complacency,” she resumed with a glare, “AND if you were being honest with yourself in the first place, I wouldn’t even need to be here. Furthermore--“

“Would you bloody well shut up?!” There was no way in hell he had conjured up this ridiculously perky, overly-caffeinated version of Buffy. It reminded him of the Bot. He sent a sideways leer to the evil manifestation. “’sides, if I really made you up, you wouldn’t be talking. I can think of some much better uses for that mouth of yours!” Unlike the real Buffy, who would have gotten adorably defensive as her green eyes sparked with anger, this one just looked at him with a bemused smile. Which was highly irritating. “ _Furthermore_ , if I’m your creator and puppet master, why the HELL would I make you so bloody annoying?”

“I’m told bleach does odd things to the brain,” she said with a falsely innocent smile. Spike thought that if he clenched his teeth any harder he’d break a fang.

“Don’t you have something else to do? Other blokes to annoy? Psyches to return to? Oh! Here’s an idea! Go torment Peaches, make sure he doesn’t find that pesky moment of happiness!” Spike jumped to his feet and started to pace. Perky Buffy just gave him a patiently blank smile. If her plan was to annoy him out of this place, she was doing a damned good job. He was ready to start hacking at the thorns and vines that surrounded this little slice of paradise. He preferred the physical pain to the internal torment seeing this fake version of Buffy produced.

“Now Spike, is that any way to speak of your venerable grand-sire?” He glowered at her. Venerable his lilly white arse! That was it, he was done.

“I just want to get the fuck outta here and away from YOU!”

“No you don’t.” For the first time, mind numbing Buffy had taken on a serious tone, which commanded Spike’s undivided attention.

“What d’you mean ‘No I don’t.’ If I said I do, then I bloody well do.” He threw himself flat on the ground, grumbling about irksome know-it all dream people who didn’t actually exist. Buffy fluidly lowered herself next to Spike.

“You don’t. You know why? Because you’ve been able to leave since you got here. You know the way out. There’s only one path out,” she said, gesturing to the right. Spike clenched his teeth at the stupid, insistent bint. She was just as stubborn as the real Buffy and she was every bit as wrong; this place was surrounded by dense woods. There wasn’t a path! But despite his absolutely certainty, there, right before his eyes, was a rough deer trail leading away from his idyllic haven. He shook his head in denial, which earned a put-upon sigh from the blonde.

“You need to. No, you _have_ to. You can’t stay here forever. You’re alive Spike! Well, alive in the undead sense of alive, but alive none the less. You have to go back. You were saved for a reason.” Her voice held a note of urgency that Spike fought hard to ignore. She reached out and touched his face, forcing him to look at her. His breath caught in his throat as he realized the mirage had been replaced. He knew with a certainty found only in dreams that he was looking at the real Buffy.

Her eyes were that confused hazel, not exactly certain of their color but closer to green than anything else, and they were filled with tears. She looked worn, there were bags under her eyes, and she had lost weight she had no business losing. The beautiful cascade of decadent gold he so fondly remembered was thin and matted. She looked unbelievably exhausted and world-weary; he just wanted to take her in his arms and let her sleep, protecting her from whatever was haunting her. His heart broke, and he achingly reached out for her. “I need you,” came the whispered plea. And she was gone.

He rolled onto his back with a how of frustration. Bugger. Love’s bitch, thy name is Spike.

It was time to leave.

***

Buffy woke up with a start, her breath coming in rapid bursts. She’d been having another nightmare about Sunnydale, those last moments with Spike. Every night was different, because every night she saved him...only to have him ripped from her arms again by some unseen force. She would wake up shivering and cold, sweat pasting the sheets to her body, and cry until she couldn’t any more, heaving sobs wracking her undernourished frame. But this time, it had been different.

She’d stayed with Spike, in the cavern, the fire from their hands traveling through them both until they were covered in it. She’d felt herself expand, merging with Spike, her physical body only a brief and insignificant memory. She’d felt whole and complete, but most important, she’d felt SPIKE. He was there, with her, part of her. And suddenly she’d been beside him, in a beautiful clearing with a dazzling pond. And it had been _him_ , she was sure of it. No spell could ever duplicate the wealth of emotions she saw in those expressive blue eyes when he looked at her. She knew he could see her pain, see her misery; because life wasn’t the same without him. She wanted to grab him and hold on tight, to yell and cry and remind him that he promised he would never leave her...but all she managed was a strangled plea, a hopeful request that he would return. And his eyes, they looked so forlorn and tortured, but underneath it all was the overwhelming love he’d always felt for her. She’d held her breath when he’d reached for her, but the scene faded into darkness, and she woke up.

Buffy felt the last tenuous threads of her hope slip away that night, but couldn’t find any tears. This loss, this utter emptiness, was beyond simple human means of expression.

***

He was in Hell. Everything hurt, his feet felt like they were going to fall off any second, and he was out of breath. He hadn’t been out of breath in over a hundred and twenty years. A few miles back, the rules had changed on him. His progress became sluggish and difficult, and he felt as if he wasn’t making any process. Spike stopped climbing and looked up at the road winding up the side of an impossibly high mountain.

“Stupid bloody **fucking** mental metaphors!” he ground out. He petulantly sat on a rock and crossed his arms. He was done. No more walking. He was seriously regretting leaving that pond right now. Except the vision of Buffy, so thin and pale, kept hounding him.

“How ya doin’ stranger?” That voice made him sink further into his sulk. Bloody fabulous. “Awe, you’re absolutely adorable when you’re pouting!”

“Oi! I do not pout,” he ground out. “’M evil. Evil does not pout and bloody well isn’t adorable!” He got up started walking purposefully away from the irritatingly perky voice. If he'd needed motivation, he'd found it. No luck, she was dodging his footsteps and moving easier than he was.

“Oh come on! Pouting is totally cute! Brooding is squicky. That’s Angel’s gig. You’re all “Oh, grrr, Slayer, I’m going to tell you blunt truths in my devilishly sexy British accent and then try to kill you!” Well, not so much with the killing parts anymore--I mean, you never tried THAT hard and you kinda saved the world--though pretending could be fun and--“

“Bloody hell you daft bint! Will you please shut the FUCK up? I’m trying to walk here!” The footsteps behind him stopped. Spike glanced over to see imaginary Buffy in full out pout, her eyes filling with giant crocodile tears. Stupid bloody buggering Nancy boy that he was, he couldn’t even be mean to the fake Buffy in his own head.

“Pet, I’m sorry, I am a bad, rude man, and--“

“You so are, especially since I was gonna offer you a lift! But nnnnnnooooooo, you had to go and be all mean and snarky about it.”

“A lift? What do you mean a lift?”

“Well. Not so much a lift as a hint.” She smiled proudly at Spike, who merely looked at her expectantly. “What?”

“You planning on hinting at anything any time soon, luv?” Spike said with a disarming smile. Subconscious creation or not, letting this daft version of his beloved in on his increasing impatience wouldn’t get him out of this mess.

“Oh. Well. You seem to have this fixation on reaching the top of this mountain you put yourself on.” He looked at her blankly. “Geeze, what is it with guys? Not everything is a giant phallic-like obstacle that you need to overcome, Spike. You’re in your own head, the rules hardly apply here. Not that you actually follow the rules or anything. But come on! Think about it. Why has your progress reached a plateau?”

Spike thought his teeth might break. He really hated cryptic bullshit.

“This is not cryptic bullshit,” Buffy informed him haughtily, “this is the Socratic method.” His jaw was ticking. He spun around and began striding purposefully away from his tormentor.

“Did it ever occur to you that you’re already there? That you can stop walking and just...wake up? Stupid vampire...”

***

Matilde liked to hum while she worked. It kept the overwhelming sadness she felt when she looked at the gaunt vampire lying lifelessly on the bed at bay. He was beautiful, despite the unavoidable thinness of his coma. She’d been assigned to tend him the day he’d been brought in, his body devastated beyond anything she’d ever witnessed. But he had healed, and over the months his body slowly emerged from the spelled healing casts that had surrounded him.

He was incredibly handsome, with his high aristocratic cheekbones and full lips. His curly hair, long and mostly light brown now, gave him a boyish air. She had to admit, he wore the bleached look well and had felt a pang of sadness when she’d given him his first haircut. But his body still lacked the fullness that only healthy muscle could instill. Even in a coma, he had a vibrancy about him that brought a smile to her old lips. Matilde just knew that when he was awake and animated he’d be bursting with life and energy. Of all the patients she’d cared for, this one got under her skin in a way none of the others had.

Humming something uplifting and cheerful, she pulled the sheet down to his waist and began gently sponging the pale slender form. He was much too skinny, she frowned, even with the copious amounts of blood they had been pumping into him intravenously. His ribs were poking through, and his stomach was almost concave.

She moved lightly over his torso, graduating to his extremities and down to his hands. She brushed the sponge over each of his long fingers. _Piano player’s fingers,_ she thought absently as she brushed her sponge over his palm. Except her sponge wouldn’t move. She looked down in confusion, to see long slender fingers fisted tightly around her yellow sponge.

With a startled gasp, she glanced up at her comatose patient and was pinned by intensely blue eyes.

“Oh,” she breathed, completely and utterly entranced.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Someone had super glued his eyes shut, Spike was sure of it. They were heavy and leaden, and the amount of energy he was expending just prying them open was staggering. His eyes finally opened, but the world was fuzzy and indistinct. The room smelled clean, a muted hospital scent lurking underneath the sweet smell of fresh flowers. He felt something cool and soothing travel down one arm and then the other. When it reached his palm, he felt his hand spasmodically close around it. His eyes decided to focus on a rather startled older woman.

“Oh my,” she murmured, her voice soft and naturally soothing. Spike took in the matronly woman before him...who, judging by the breeze and sponge currently clutched in his hand, had apparently been in the middle of giving him a sponge bath. It took a couple of tries, but he finally managed to get his lips working.

“Mind tellin’ me where I am, ducks?” He winced as his voice came out rough and cracked with disuse, barely more than a whisper. His mouth was dry, and he felt weak; fatigue was setting in at an alarming rate. Something was very wrong. And then it came back. The cave. The uber vamps. Buffy...the crushing darkness... He started convulsing, his breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He was feeling lightheaded. Oh God, no! What had...Buffy, the Bit...the voices, the accusations...everything swirled into a vortex of pain and horror.

Matilde watched as the man before her went from slightly befuddled to full-blown panic attack in the matter of moments. His distressed cries snapped her out of her reverie. She set the bedside alarm off and moved beside him, laying her cool hands on his, and gently began prying his hands loose of the death grip on his hair. Mustering all of her maternal instincts, she began talking to him in a calm and soothing voice.

“Spike. William. You’re safe, you’re in the hospital wing of a place called Haven. Nothing can get you here, this is a safe place, no harm can come of you, calm down, you're safe. You're safe, Spike. You've been here healing. Nothing can get to you, it's okay. Come on lovely, relax those fingers for me, deep breaths.” Spike’s fingers slowly unwound from his long, unkempt brown hair. He felt something warm spread through him, spiraling outward, chasing away the darkness and pain. He felt a brief flare of panic that something vital was missing, but the warmth suffused him and he began to calm.

“You were brought in with severe injuries; you’ve been in a coma for a very long time. We’ve just been waiting patiently for you to wake up. There you go, that’s it. Deep breaths, let it all go.” She eased his hands to the bed, and met his tormented blue eyes. _A woman could get lost in those eyes,_ she thought. She heard movement in the hallway and smiled reassuringly at Spike. “I knew you were too beautiful to just lay there forever. Even unconscious, you’re far too full of life.”

Spike looked at this kind woman with surprise. This could not possibly be the real world, no one said things like that. Not to him. The door opened with a quiet pop and Spike’s slayer alarm went off full blast. He estimated she was about 5’5”/5’6”. She was tiny, though not Hollywood skinny, but genuinely athletically toned. She had long red hair--a deeper, more vital red than Willow’s--that fell in a riot of curls down her back. Intelligent brown eye perused him without any hint of fear or malice. Judging by the amount of power radiating from her, she had nothing to fear from most demons, much less one who could barely open his eyes.

Her sudden smile lit up her entire face, and Spike could just make out freckles dotting her cheeks and nose. She was...friendly was the first word that popped into his head. He was taken aback when she addressed him with the sincerity and familiarity of an old acquaintance.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, Spike.” Her voice was low and soothing.

“You know me?” The smile seemed to falter a moment before it was back with the intensity of a spotlight.

“Something like that. Matilde, could you inform the floor manager that Spike will be moving out of this room, and see if the apartment we set up for him is ready to go?” The old nurse nodded her assent and smiled kindly at Spike. He caught her arm in a weak grip before she had a chance to leave.

“Thanks luv,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t exactly sure what he was thanking her for. Her scent permeated the room, and he had the feeling she had spent quite a good deal of time with him. He tentatively returned her warm smile.

“You are most very welcome, William,” Matilde responded, and with a gentle smile, she shocked the hell out of the decades-old master vampire. The quiet click of the door brought Spike out of his stupor, and he directed his gaze at the highly amused slayer.

“She...she kissed me!”

“Ah...yes...well, Matilde has a very well developed appreciation for the male form, and I suspect all those full-body sponge baths and muscle-building massages she gave you only fed her fascination...” Alanna burst out laughing at the vampire’s scandalized look. Her laughter was infectious, and Spike found himself smiling weakly. Despite her good humor, Spike was suddenly acutely aware that he was alone with a very powerful slayer and completely defenseless. He nervously glanced around the room, his eye alighting on anything that wasn’t female. Alanna took a few moments to observe him before offering an olive branch.

“Well...welcome back. Got any questions?”

“Yeah. Who won the world cup?” he asked flippantly.

“Actually, the final game is Sunday. France versus Italy. Portugal and Germany are playing the consolation game.”

“What? _France_ is in a position to win the World Cup? France? The nancy little poof of a country that hasn’t won a war in...fuck all? You can not be serious!” The world had definitely gone to shite while he’d been out. Wait...if they were playing the final game of the world cup already, that meant... “How...how long was I gone?” The slayer’s grin faded and Spike felt the uncontrollable panic rising again.

“A little under six months,” she murmured softly. Spike closed his eyes and tried to fight back the swell of emotions. Six months. Six bloody months. “Sunnydale is a huge crater. You collapsed the Hellmouth, and the entire town became a giant sinkhole. We had to dig you out, but that...that took a while. You were...you were in pretty bad shape when we found you. We had to act fast to keep you alive, and--”

“You fed me.” He met her eyes as some of the memories came rushing back. The roof collapsing, lost in the darkness and pain, then the voices and feeling a slayer close by, wondering why it didn't feel familiar, and the taste of her powerful blood...of being pulled away before he took to much. “Why would you do that?” he asked softly.

Alanna seemed surprised by Spike’s questions, as if not doing it had never occurred to her. “Well...I really didn't need all of it to live. Figured I could spare you a pint or two.” She smiled sincerely, and allowed herself a moment to observe the myriad of emotions swirling through Spike’s expressive blue eyes.

_”This is officially the weirdest day of my life,”_ thought Spike, _”and that is really saying something.”_ Slayers didn’t save the lives of vampires; they staked them and then asked questions never. So what was she doing? She’d dug him out of the ground, put him in a hospital, and _fed him_. Stuck her bleeding wrist in front of his face and made him drink. That was...beyond huge. It was all about the blood, blood was life. She had given him her life. He wondered if she realized what that meant. And didn’t she realize shoving her bleeding wrist in the face of an unconscious vampire was an incredibly stupid thing to do? He cleared his throat and turned his attention to... “Don’t think I caught your name, pet.”

“Oh! Oh, wow, right, sorry, I’m Alanna. Lena too many, I have a slew of personal pet names, and I’ll occasionally respond to ‘Hey You’.” She smiled again and Spike was momentarily distracted by the complete lack of guile behind it. She was, as far as he could tell, being honest with him and completely unthreatening. Spike felt the last of his tension slip away.

“Well even though you obviously know me, name’s Spike.”

Her open and gleeful grin was refreshing. “Well hi Spike. Welcome to Haven, your home for the past few months and however long you’d like it to be in the future.”

“’zat so. You have cigarettes in Haven?” He grinned cockily at the censoring look she gave him.

“Well, I’ll see what I can do, considering you’re already dead.”

“You’re a peach.” She seemed to be waiting for him to say something else. “So...what’s this place called? Haven? What exactly is this place, diggin' vamps out of craters and wot not? An’ don’t you people have rules about fraternizing with the patients?” He was rewarded with a giggle.

“Oh, Haven’s a good deal more than a hospital. It’s actually a city of sorts. There are all sorts of people here, demon and human. It’s a safe zone; the land is consecrated, and there’s been no blood spilt here for...oh, several hundred years. Well, aside from the odd scraped knee and unavoidable accident. We have wards too, lots and lots of wards. They wards don’t stop people from fighting, just from doing any serious damage; a lot of it is based on intent. We're something of a neutral zone in the supernatural community. A lot of treaties are negotiated here, and those can get a little crazy.” Spike thought it sounded like a global version of the chip.

“How come I’ve never heard of this place? Been a demon a long time.”

“Long is a matter of perception,” she said with a deceptively bland smile. “But we don’t exactly advertise, and most of the people who come here don’t leave. Ah, in a totally non-Bates Motel kind of way. And those that do leave are very protective of their time here. And let’s be honest...until a little while ago, you wouldn’t have been very interested in a town guaranteed to be violence-free...though there was this one time where a novice witch literally painted the town red...” Spike let out a bark of laughter at that.

“Yeah, well she gets points for creativity,” Alanna said with a wry grin. Spike was about to reply when he blinked and everything seemed to shift. Alanna was no longer standing next to his bed, but ensconced in a plush chair on the other side of the room, papers and books stacked on a small table beside him.

“Oh, hey! You're back!” Spike frowned in confusion. “Adrenaline crash. You're pretty weak. Fell asleep on me. But no worries, I didn't take it personally. How are you feeling?”

“Ah...'m okay,” Spike mumbled. He still felt incredibly weak and tired. He shook his head, trying to focus.

“Don't push yourself. You're not going to be 100% right off. Feel free to nod off whenever you want.”

A light knock interrupted their conversation. A young Asian boy who smelled of Brachen demon stuck his head in and told the slayer everything was ready. Alanna practically bounced out of the chair.

“You up to seeing your new digs?”

***

Spike was mildly embarrassed as they wheeled his hospital bed down the hall and into the elevator. But Alanna had cautioned him against trying to get up, and when the act of just trying to sit up without help had all but wiped him out (again), Spike had readily agreed. He was actually pretty sure he fell asleep for part of the trip, because the next thing he knew, the sound of a key in a lock woke him up.

“Welcome to your humble abode,” Alanna announced, directing his bed into the homey flat. The door opened to a large, carpeted living room, complete with TV, couch, and coffee table. He could make out a kitchen and dining area (fully furnished from what he could tell) on the far wall, as well as a closed door. “You’ve got kitchen and laundry over thata way; that door is a guest bedroom with a full bath. This is the master suit.” She pushed open a door on the far side of the couch to reveal a large bedroom...without a bed. Spike belatedly realized he was IN the bed and wondered why they’d set up all the other furniture, but not that.

“You may have noticed that the decor lacks a little, how should I say this, color. But there are a lot of little shops around town where you can pick up any knick-knacks you might want. You’re also welcome to change out any of the furniture, just let maintenance know and they’ll come pick it up and even move in your new stuff,” Alanna rambled, filling him in on the ins and outs of his new home. Spike’s head was swimming, and he was afraid he’d landed in Bizarro world, where people actually liked and respected him and you really got all this nice stuff for free just because. “You saved the world. That’s a big debt to pay.” Spike realized he must have said part of that out loud, and the look Alanna was giving him was penetrating and serious. He had to glance away from the intensity of her look and settled with studying his new room, his eyes alighting on a closed door.

“That’s your bathroom,” the slayer volunteered. “Set up to suit your special needs.” Spike barely had time to process what ‘special needs’ meant before she continued, “I’m gonna go and let you rest; you looked completely beat. But I’ll be back in the morning to answer any other questions you might have. And if you're feeling up to it, maybe some fresh air? Sound good?”

It was only then that Spike realized he was already half asleep. He gave her a small nod, before succumbing to exhaustion and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

“Impressssively done,” a sibilant, dry voice hissed.

“I would not have thought it possible,” a warbling female voice added. “He is naturally inquisitive and very bright. But he will have to deal with it tomorrow. You honestly think this respite will help?”

“In the short run, yes. But the long term? Nothing can stop what’s coming. All we can do is hope Spike will make it through.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Which one?” Leto growled impatiently.

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Alanna’s voice held a note of resignation.

“Well you have to make a choice, you don’t have all day.”

“Yes, thank you, I know that,” she snapped. She sank further in her chair, studiously avoiding Leto’s annoyingly rational questions. The silence stretched between them, Alanna desperately searching for some way to get out of her current predicament, Leto perfectly content to let her think herself into a corner. After a long deliberation, Alanna broke the silence. “Isn’t there a magical option C?”

“Sorry, there’s a two spell maximum on your bed bound vamp. And I’m surprised you even did THAT knowing how he feels about magic and--“

“I get it, Leto, the guilt trip is unnecessary. But I made the call.”

“Yes, you did, with the knowledge that you’d eventually have to make THIS call. And you do have an option C: remove them both.”

“But...the whole point of the spells in the first place was to-to make it easier for him. Ease him back into the real world--“

“The real world where the girl AND his injuries exist. Neither of which you can keep him spelled against for long. Oh, stop. Are you trying to add Death Glare to the Slayer package?”

“Die where you stand.”

“Don’t get snarky; you put yourself in this position. Make a choice, he’ll be up soon.” Leto tried to hide the smile that crept up on him as the slayer stubbornly pouted her way to the conclusion that *he* was right.

“Do I _have_ to?”

“Did you just whine?” Leto asked incredulously. “There’s no whining in Slaying! You know...if I didn’t know better--and I do--I’d say there was something preventing you from being completely objective in this case.”

“Par- _don_?”

“Hey now, none of that. I’m just saying you’re...emotional. Beyond the point you usually get. It’s...disconcerting. Ooooo, Death Glare, take two. Well, practice makes perfect.” Leto congratulated himself at containing his laughter. Alanna was getting really good at the whole Glare of Death thing.

“Give me the crystals,” she ground out. Leto swore he could hear her teeth cracking under the pressure. “I’ll break them when it’s time.”

***

An incessant pounding cut through Spike’s very pleasant sleep. Groggily forcing one eye open, he took a moment to assess his surroundings. Right. He’d been in a coma for months, miraculously opened his eyes yesterday, and met some scarily nice people who had taken care of and provided for his every need. He’d been moved into a two-bedroom flat, fully furnished though lacking the touches it would need to make it home. He smiled at the large high def TV; _Passions_ would never be the same. The pounding continued, and a glance at the bedside clock revealed it was noon. No respectable vampire was up at noon! The pounding was getting louder.

“Bloody hell, WHAT IS IT?” he roared. Well, he tried to roar, but his vocal cords were still a little scratchy so it came out as fairly normal. A fuzzy human-shaped thing was framed in the doorway. Judging by the amount of red in the head area and slayer tinglies, it had to be Alanna.

“Mornin’ Spikey McSpikersen!” her cheery voice piped. Spike mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like sod off. The irrepressible chit grinned wider. “Now Spike, none of that. I figured after being in bed for six months, you’d want to get off your pale lazy ass and see the town.” Spike glared at her through his one open eye.

“Incase you hadn’t noticed, Elmo,” he said slowly, “the sun is out. In fact, it’s very out because it’s noon, and vampire plus sun equals big pile o’ Spike dust.”

Her nose scrunched adorably. Just like...there was something poking at the edge of his consciousness, just beyond his grasp. Someone he should remember...

“Elmo?” Spike brought himself back to the present.

“Yeah. You know, the muppet who sings songs about poncey things and is sponsored by the alphabet? Right annoying voice, especially way too early in the mornin’?”

“Cute, and it's noon,” she said dryly, “Didn’t expect to be on the receiving end of one of your pet names so soon.” Spike looked at her oddly; what exactly did that mean? “Anyways, you silly vampire you. This is _Haven._ We’ve got a sun shield, courtesy of a few favors owed and a resident coven.” Alanna gestured up and spoke with exaggerated slowness, “Vampire no go boom.”

“Wait, you mean...” Spike trailed off, unable to even begin processing the implications of her words. He could walk out in the sun, feel its rays for the first time in 120 years, see the true, bright colors of the world again... “Well, then what the hell are we waiting for? Sign me up for the soddin’ tour!” Spike made to get out of bed, struggling with the tangled sheets.

“Spike...” Something in her voice stopped him cold. When he looked up, she was gazing at him seriously, even a little grimly. Spike had a feeling this particular slayer was only serious on special occasions. His apprehension grew as the silence stretched between them, thick with foreboding. She seemed to be steeling herself for something. Alanna took a deep breath and crushed one of the crystals in her pocket, lifting one of the small forgetting spells they'd cast over the injured vamp.

“Ah, well, remember when we told you we pulled you out of the rubble?” He nodded slowly, knowing instinctively that he was not going to like whatever she had to say. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge the memories of darkness screaming through his subconscious. “Six months is a long time for a vampire,” she said softly. “You were out so long be-because you were in a bad way. Really bad. Almost every bone in your body was nearly shattered. Including your...spine...” The room was closing in on him. This couldn’t be happening, not again. His head was spinning, and it was hot. He was in a tunnel, and the world was getting farther and farther away.

***

There was something cool on his neck. And it was wet. And it kinda itched. And FUCK. Not again. Memories of Angelus and that damned wheelchair crashed in on him, remembering what it felt like to be completely helpless. This couldn’t be real, this was just a nightmare, he’d wake up any minute. Nonononononononononono--

“Spike?” The Voice seemed far away. “Spike, I need you to control your breathing, or just stop altogether. You're hyperventilating. Come on buddy, calm down, just let yourself relax, let it go. You’re okay, you’re going to be fine, just calm down...good. okay, that’s it. You're doing great.” The Voice was soothing, and Spike felt the world realigning itself.

“Good, Spike. I need you to do something for me. I want you to try and move your legs. Don’t look at me like that. Just try it.” Feeling utterly dejected, Spike half-heartedly asked his brain to move his legs. No one was more surprised than him when they twitched. Incredulous, he tried it again, concentrating harder. They really moved; not much, but he could control them, though the effort was exhausting.

“You’re not paralyzed. But you’re not revvin’ to go either,” she warned. “Your body had to regenerate a lot of tissue. You don’t have a lot of muscle left anymore. We built up as much as we could while you were out, but your legs were one of the last parts to heal completely. Most of your nerve endings, in every part of your body, are brand spankin’ new. You’re going to have to relearn to do a lot of things, including walking, which will be the last and hardest.”

“Why last?” Alanna sighed good naturedly at the stubborn set of his jaw. Damn vampire wanted to jump the gun on her, and she knew he’d try several times before he realized there was no getting around it. But that was fine; she preferred stubborn Spike to totally freaked-out Spike.

“Therapy,” she responded. “Try and pick up a corner of your sheet there.” Spike rolled his eyes at such a ridiculous request and did so. Or he tried to. His fingers couldn’t seem to grasp anything; they were sluggish and hard to control. He tried again, still unsuccessful. He glanced up at Alanna, a slightly panicky gleam in his eye. “Fine motor skills. They leave first and return last. So what we need to do is get your upper body strong. A lot of your leg therapy requires distributing your weight between your torso and your legs. Also, once you have upper body control, we can teach you to be completely independent. We’ve set up this apartment to be user-friendly, and you’d be surprised how easy it is to get along without legs once you know how.”

Spike was dubious. He'd been without the use of his legs once, and he hadn’t even smelled the scent of independence until he forced his recalcitrant legs to support his own weight. And that whole mess had ended up in disaster, the love of his life never forgiving him for betraying her precious Daddy. He closed his eyes against the memories of Dru leaving him for a Chaos Demon. Strange, that thought didn’t cause more than a slight twinge in him.

“Care to dumb that down for the overwhelmed pet?” he asked wearily.

“It’s going to take time Spike. Time and effort. But we’re going to do everything we can to get you better as fast as possible. That one of our mottos here at Haven,” she said with a wink. Alanna grew serious again, adding, “Your progress will depend a lot on your attitude and dedication.”

“Well luv, I can pretty much guarantee you I’m fairly dedicated to getting my feet back under me,” he said. She grinned at him, and he felt a little better. Not much, but enough.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She pulled two light blue balls out of her bag and presented them to Spike. He took them, but was utterly confused.

“Ah...thanks, Elmo. Just what I never knew I needed.” She laughed at him, that bright illuminating smile back on her face.

“You’re actually quite right. These are strength builders. When you’re lying around here being lazy or watching Passions, just squeeze them. They’ll build muscle and strengthen your hands. You’ll get those pesky fine motor skills back quicker, and you’ll be able to start walking sooner.” He gave her a genuine smile, and Alanna marveled at how beautiful he was when he let the Big Bad Spike persona drop. “And before I forget, you start therapy and strength training on Monday, so enjoy the down time while you can.”

Spike was struck with a sudden feeling of anxiety. Between the news about his legs, therapy, and Alanna’s stunning kindness, his head was swimming. This was going to take some time to sort out and come to terms with...and he suspected he was being given a week to do so.

“You mind a rain check on that city tour, pet? I just...I need a minute.” Alanna's understanding smile didn't help.

“Yeah. That's cool. I'll check on you later, yeah?”

***

“This is...I can’t...WHAT THE HELL?! No, SERIOUSLY, what the hell.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Yeah, noticed that!”

“Look, it was--“

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“You--“

“Were entrusted with him, directly from the higher-ups. I’m responsible for his rehabilitation. His attitude and progress the first month or two will affect the rest of his recovery; if he’s not sold on the whole process, loses sight of the final goal, he’ll be...he can't leave. We can't let him, not until we've helped him. He could be crippled forever. ”

“Forever is a long time for a vamp.”

“Reminding him of Buffy now will only cause unnecessary problems.”

“Is that why? YOU don’t want to deal with her? That's not fair to either of them. And they're problems he'll have to deal with eventually, you can't block his memories forever.”

“The spell stays.”

“You've got what, three, four months tops? It won't hold for long.”

“Doesn’t have to.”

“The memories are going to start trying to break through. It’ll be little things at first, things he’ll dismiss...but when it stops making sense, when the things he does remember don’t flow or have any cohesion, it’s going to confuse him. And _then_ he’ll start to remember his feelings, you won’t have time to lift it, and he’ll realize what that means...what you’ve done. Buffy, Sunnydale, EVERYTHING is going to come rushing back. He's smart, he'll put two and two together and come up with you. What are you going to do when it blows up in your face?”

“Apologize. Grovel. Be banished from his sight for all eternity. As long as he gets better, I can deal with the consequences.”

“Good. Now say that like you mean it.”


	4. Chapter 4

“There is no way in hell you will ever get me into that bloody contraption,” he said with steel in his voice.

“Spike,” Alanna said with exasperation. Stupid goddamned stubborn vampire. Exactly how did he expect to get around? And where did he get off making her sound like a petulant child?

“Never,” Spike insisted. He eyed the aluminum wheelchair with loathing. Memories of Dru’s defection and Angel’s mockery the time some soddin’ bint had dropped an organ on him swam before his eyes. Dru deciding that he was one of her little dolls, dressing him up and pushing him places, then leaving him helpless and stranded and the head of the stairs; being brought food by condescending minions; Angelus bodily picking him up and putting him in a prime position to watch Dru please her precious Daddy, Spike unable to escape. The anger and humiliation came rushing back with force, slamming into his body. God, he felt nauseous. A hand appeared on his arm.

“Spike? What’s wrong?” He jerked away, having forgotten Alanna was there. She looked worried, but he couldn't help it; his skin was on fire, her touch felt abrasive and bruising.

“I-I’m...sorry, I just...nothing to worry about, I’m fine,” he said gruffly, gently pushing her away. She looked at him skeptically. Bloody women, they had a way of trying to run his life. But he was not getting into that...thing. No bloody way.

“You’re not fine Spike. I get it, you’ve had bad experiences before, but I promise that no one will look at you with scorn or pity or anything like that. I promise, you’ll be in full control the whole time. And think of how nice it will to get out of this room and see the sun again!”

Spike stared at the loathsome chair and weighed his options. Alanna was, without doubt, one of the most stubborn slayers he’d ever laid eyes on; the likelihood of her giving up was not high. And the thought of being in the sun for the first time in over a hundred years was...well, tempting didn’t even begin to describe it. But the thought of being in that chair made his skin crawl and his vision to grey.

“The city is almost entirely wheelchair accessible,” Alanna wheedled. Spike snorted. Of course it was, this was a sodding Utopia. “Look, it’s either get used to the idea of the wheelchair for a while, or rot here in your room until you can walk again, which I’m not going to remind you is a ways off. Come on! It’ll be fun! Please, Spike? Pretty please with a giant, sweet, tasty cherry on top, with hot fudge and some pretty colored sprinkles?” Two dark brown puppy dog eyes pleaded with him to comply. “Or, I dunno, a bottle of Jack?”

_I am well and truly buggered._ Spike closed his eyes and fought back the influx of emotional turmoil that even the thought of being bound to the chair caused in him. So far, Alanna and the other Haven staff he’d met hadn’t given him reason to distrust them. They’d actually gone out of their way to make him feel comfortable, which was a whole other set of feelings he was also ignoring. This wasn’t the same situation as with Dru and Angelus. He wouldn’t be carried up a flight of steps by laughing, mocking minions, only to be left there because Dru’s pixies led her elsewhere. Alanna’s sanity wasn’t fleeting, and her attentions, as far as he could tell, weren’t fickle. And if what she said was true, then he _couldn’t_ be stranded anywhere. Spike ruefully shook his head when he realized he was actually trying to convince himself the chair was a good idea. Eyeing it with distaste, Spike grunted out a mopey ‘fine.’ Before he could get his thoughts in order, Alanna picked him up and plopped him in the soft leather seat.

“Warn a bloke first, will ya?” he demanded in irritation. Had he been human, his face would’ve been bright red, just one more shining example of his pathetic weakness.

“Sorry. What can I say? I’m impatient,” Alanna said with an impish smile. He was sulking, his lips pinched and his eyes a steely, like a rebellious little boy. She decided it was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Spike was busy fighting back the smile her infectious grin was trying to coax out of him; he didn’t _smile_ , he smirked! He was a soddin’ vampire for chrissake! Honestly, the ease with which this slayer made him want to grin like a soddin’ idiot disturbed him a bit. She must have cast some sort of spell that turned him into a dopey git or something. “You ready?” she asked as they made it into the hall. Spike had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized they’d started moving.

“Ready? For what?” His questions were met with silence. “What...Oi! Woman! Holy shit!” Alanna took of at a dead run down the hall, as fast as her superhuman slayer legs could carry her. All Spike could do was hold on for dear unlife. Bugger, he’d had an entire city collapse on him and survived to tell the tale, only to be murdered by an overzealous slayer who didn’t know her own strength. The world spun around and he found himself facing the wrong way, heart in his throat. But it was strangely life-affirming. An involuntary, half-insane laugh forced itself out of him.

“See? Wasn’t that FUN?” He glared at the cracked-out slayer, but his eyes held an amused twinkle he couldn’t disguise and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Well fine then. Be boring and slow,” she said petulantly. He had to laugh at her absolutely adorable pout.

“Let’s go, pet. At a downright leisurely pace, if you don’t mind.” She stuck her tongue out at him before holding the door open, allowing him to wheel himself into the sun.

He instinctively flinched when the first golden rays touched him, expecting searing pain instead of the gentle caress. He looked at his hand, alight with the rays of the sun for the first time in over a century. He turned his hand over, observing how the shadows scurried across his hand as he moved. He looked up and saw the sky, cerulean blue with small white clouds darting across it and laughed. Joy invaded his soul, filling him, moving him; there were tears streaming down his face, seemingly at odds with the joyous laughter consuming him. He laughed until his stomach hurt and his face ached. He turned bleary eyes to his companion, and saw a few fat tears rolling down her own face, a soft smile alight on her plush lips. Spike decide if he couldn’t make this moment perfect by running around in the light, he could settle for second best. Motioning his guide to him, he waited until she was even with him before grabbing her head and kissing her with all the exuberance in his soul.

Alanna broke away with a delighted laugh, moved by Spike’s appreciation for something she often took for granted.

“Let's go pet! I wanna see the world!”

***

Haven was stunning. Nested deep in the heart of an expansive forest, a sense of peace and serenity permeated every aspect of the city. Spike had been shocked when he first saw the sheer variety of different demons casually strolling down the streets alongside humans and their mortal enemies without a discordant word or evil look between them. Spike had nearly fallen from his chair the first time he’d seen a Faryl demon conversing with a Latesh about the best chair to accentuate his mate’s yellow-and-brown themed kitchenette, a human sales woman dropping in her two cents every now and then. At first glance it seemed like the Stepford of the demon community. Spike even had a wild thought that the Initiative hadn’t been destroyed, but were perfecting their chips and he was a giant experiment, a guinea pig in a gilded cage. But, with Alanna’s helpful and piercing observations, Spike began to get a sense of the flow and undercurrents of the city. Ancient rival demon clans still glanced sideways at their counterparts, and generally avoided each other, but it was obvious neither one would dare disturb the sanctity of this place. Everyone still seemed to gravitate towards their own kind or close allies, but there were still diverse, mixed groups all over the place.

The different shops that lined the streets catered to every possible desire, from esoteric magicps, to a food shop catering to Prio Motu and Carnyss demons (whose fare was pretty much ground sludge with mildew), to an Arden B. A large 50s-style movie theater sat at the end of one street advertising the new Johnny Depp movie. Large parks were frequent, and they passed several community pools, though a few were filled with a blue-green gunk that resembled pond scum. Which it very well could have been.

And he was in the sun. It was warming his skin, heating him from outside in. Everything was brighter in the sunlight: trees, flowers, houses. It was epic. He imagined a beautiful golden goddess bathed in this sunlight, sprawled along the green grass in a skimpy bathing suit...better stop that line of thought now, mate, least while in mixed company. His stomach growled, and he remembered he hadn’t actually eaten anything yet today.

They stopped at an open cafe where they could eat and Spike could enjoy the sun. Alanna seemed to be well known here, and Spike had yet to see anyone use any form of money. Just one in a long list of questions about the place Spike wanted to ask her about. She handed him a glass of warmed blood and settled in to eat her chicken lettuce wraps.

He took a sip of his blood and nearly spit it out.

“Fuckin’ hell Elmo!” he yelled. She looked up, startled and alert. “This...this is _human_ blood!” Her features relaxed, and she gave him a “Duh, Moron” look that seemed eerily familiar.

“Well...yeah. Doctor’s orders. You’re on a strict human-only diet for the next month. Supposed to help with the muscle-building process and tie up any loose ends you may still have. After that, you’re back on the animal stuff buddy.”

“I can’t drink this! It’s...I can’t...but...” Spike trailed off miserably. He was so confused. What the hell was going on? The blood he was sipping was all the same type, but it was a mix of several different people. He could...feel them. It was old, but not spoiled. Kind of like the blood he stole from hospitals that were just about to be discarded.

“Spike, all of it is willingly donated by the humans who live here. We keep blood stockpiled in case anything, ah, unfortunate happens to our human operatives. Haven didn't start as a city; it was started as a base of operations for some rather risky ventures. We’re giving you the stuff we can’t really use anymore--not that that doesn’t mean we heart you less. I promise you, no humans were harmed in the heating of your blood.” Spike gave her a skeptical look. “Either drink it or starve, because you can go anywhere in the city and every single person will give you the same. Ah, the perks of having a magically-enhanced food processing center.”

Spike was bewildered. Stunned confusion seemed to be his default mode these days. But...humans, in the multiple, were donating blood so that he could heal. A vampire, a demon, a worthless thing who couldn’t even walk on his own. “What _is_ this place?” Spike muttered. This was too surreal to even begin to process. He eyes his blood with mild distaste. He couldn’t quite say why he was so unsettled. And the blood tasted...wrong? No, not quite. It was more like...forbidden.

“Haven was originally, and actually still is, the base of operations for a very powerful group of beings known as the Minean Seek. You’ve heard of them?” Spike stared at Alanna. Just when he thought she couldn't drop any more bombshells on him...

“Cor, the Seek? The Seek, the fifteen of the most powerful entities to ever walk the earth. The people who manipulate the demon world like a game of chess. Burned Carthage back in the day. THAT seek?” What was that a blush creeping up Elmo’s pretty little neck?

“Ah, yeah, well, the Seek...as a whole...wasn’t exactly responsible...Carthage was...but that’s not important. You've got the right idea. Basically, the Seek contracts their services out, mediating disputes, stopping the errant apocalypse, minor stuff like that. They’re the Keepers of the Balance, so they don’t really take sides in the whole good versus evil thing. They have their own code of conduct...kind of like The Godfather. This is their city; it's mostly self-sufficient, and almost everyone here at Haven is, in someway, a part of Seek operations. So we only need a few things to really get by here. Necessities--food, water, shelter, and most personal items--are all free. Some of the individual shops take currency, especially the human franchise stores. Those are legitimate, taxes and all.” She produced a map from her bag of tricks with a flourish.

“So, this area right here” she pointed to the north “is where the heavy muscle live, the people who are a big part of Haven ops. This is the Big House, where everything is organized and most of the Seek live. Every operation is staged, planned, and organized from here. All the housing you see, sort of branching out in a circle, is for those who work directly with the Seek. This is our Coven, you have any magical needs, just ask them. And this is what we call Slayer Central--the small attachment to the main house is the training facility, bunch of slayerettes running around there. Directly across the way is our resident vampire coven, and the rest of the apartment complexes are species-grouped by floors. You live in the only completely integrated complex.”

He didn’t know whether to bang his head on the table and cry or just laugh like a maniac. Slayer training? Demon theme housing? A _vampire coven?_ What in the name of all things unholy would an entire coven of vampires be doing _here_? His head hurt.

“You mean to tell me this place, the poster city for nonviolence, has an entire coven of vampires?” he asked incredulously.

“Spike, you of all people should know that not all vampires are the same.” She let Spike absorb that for a moment, before picking up their dishes and returning them to the cafe. “Alright, let’s get you back to your apartment; you look like you’ve had enough dramatic revelations for the day. I don’t even want to know what you’d do if someone told you the Oracles had a summer home here.”

Spike felt a welcome numbness settle over him. This had been way more than a jaunt through the sunshine. So many different emotions and thoughts were swimming through his brain so fast that he’d stopped trying to process them. Slayers donating their blood so he could heal. Therapy. The wheelchair. Not being able to walk. And entire coven of vampires coexisting with humans and fighting for the white hats--a COVEN. These weren’t a few master vampires with minions nesting in an abandoned building by the docks. A coven was a group of at least three master vampires and their childer, living together in a coherent community. He was so wrapped up in his musings that Alanna lifted him out of the chair and into his bed without a single protest.

After she left, Spike was too wired for sleep, so he set about doing the only thing that truly distracted him from his racing thoughts: compiling a list of things he couldn't do. He couldn’t write or turn the pages of a book; he’d tried and ended up chucking the blasted thing when his temper snapped. He could barely manipulate the remote control to his TV. Hell, he could barely pull his own covers up. Spike slowly forgot the tumult of Alanna’s revelations, the joys of being in the sunlight, and a depression settled over his heart.

***

_Haven was silent and dark. Ominous and cold. Spike found himself at the same cafe Alanna had taken him to. The same thermos was on a picnic table, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles happily ‘Cowabunga’-ing, and he felt drawn to it. He unscrewed the lid and it started bubbling over, the smell of slayer’s life blood slamming into him like a wall. It was overflowing, spilling over the table, coating everything in its path, thick and sticky. It crept over the table and spilled down the bench, coating the grass, moving towards him. Spike frantically backed up, trying to escape the tidal wave of red. The panic was swelling within him, almost paralyzing._

_Panicking, Spike realized he couldn’t move his legs. They were frozen and stiff. He fell over onto the ground. The swell of red was coming nearer. He could hear screams coming from the blood, see the faces of slayers staring accusingly at him as they died painfully. He tried to scramble backwards, but his arms couldn’t hold his own weight. He collapsed on the soft grass, sobbing in terror. It was getting closer._

_“This is pathetic, Spike,” a deep voice said behind him. Angel. He laughed mockingly at Spike’s weak struggles. “Look at you William. Really, this is very very sad. I’m ashamed to claim you as mine. Can’t walk, can’t move, can’t ever keep the girl. Why are you still alive? You know, there’s really no reason for you to be here.”_

_Spike shook his head in denial. No, he was done living in Angel’s shadow, finished with his demeaning and hurtful words._

_“Oh, Spike.” Hope filled him, the delicious feeling of love filling his breast. That voice. Buffy. His Buffy._

_“Buffy, luv,” he pleaded, reaching desperately for her. She would help him, his Buffy. She was light and purity and goodness. She wouldn’t leave him stranded here, couldn’t even stake him when he was evil with a chip. And she had said it, that night, in the cave. Even if she didn’t actually love him, she had to care._

_“He has a point, you know,” she said, seating herself on one of the picnic benches, jade eyes observing the tide of red hungrily lick at Spike’s feet. “You are kinda pathetic. I mean, come on. A baby could out crawl that.” Spike renewed his struggles with a feverish intensity, the viscous liquid surrounding his ankles. Screaming accusations rang in his head. He could feel the wetness of the blood on his calves. “You can always fight harder, be a little faster...but you’re always too late. Like the tower. You let me die, Spike.” He froze at her words. No. No. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard. He’d cried over her body, and cried when she’d returned. She said she’d forgiven him. She’d said! The blood was at his waist now, moving faster. “Goodbye Spike. Don’t worry, no one will miss you.”_

_Spike tried to scream, but the blood of a thousand slayers silenced him, filled his mouth and spilled down his throat. The world went black._

_He was entombed in the remains of Sunnydale again. They were back, his demons, all of the people he had killed, glaring at him accusingly, haunting him. Anya was there, a long, thin line running from temple to waist. She looked at him with hatred and berated him for being too slow, for not saving her. Spike wanted to scream at her, ask her how he had failed her, but she was replaced by a sea of faces, his victims, surging towards him like the river of Slayer blood._

_A bright white light shattered the darkness, scattering that assembled masses. Spike tried to avert his eyes from the sudden glare, but couldn’t. As his eyes adjusted, he absently noticed that the light wasn’t white; it was a blend of colors swirling together to form the most beautiful incandescent light show he’d ever witnessed. The darkness fled in front of it, skittering away. His terror was gradually replaced with a sense of peace and protection. There were figures silhouetted in the light, interrupting the dance of colors. Alanna was before him, next to a black man with inviting green eyes._

Leto _the word was whispered into his mind by a symphony of voices. He decided that it fit. Spike marveled at their auras, a beautiful melding of black and gold. Leto grabbed his arm and pulled Spike out of the mire and into the colors._

Spike sat bolt upright in bed breathing heavily, the force of the dream pounding through his veins. Images flashed through his mind: the terrible river of blood, being caught underneath Sunnydale, a mesh of impressions and feelings and color. Fresh agony and fear ripped into him, and he stifled an agonized scream. He buried his heads in hands and began rocking back and forth to try and block out the images in his mind. He was so turned inward that he missed the gentle light that began filling the room as the peace he felt with Leto and Alanna in that luminous light was returned to him, seeping into his bones and calling him back to sleep.

***

The light in the room slowly faded, each color coalescing and returning to the entity which created it. The fifteen immortal members of the Seek regarded one another.

“This will not be easy,” a raspy wooden voice proclaimed.

“He issss very troubled. He hassss known little kindnesss in life,” the Naga hissed, his thrashing tail the only sign of his discontent.

“But despite this, he has a good heart and a beautiful soul,” a third added, his voice a light tenor with a quality that defied his human façade.

“It will take time and dedication to undo what has been done.” The voice was a musical alto and held the secrets of the oceans.

“We must heal more than the body.” Murmurs of assent echoed through the chamber.

“What of the spell?” Silence met the question.

“The spell,” the Seer said slowly, her blue eyes glowing slightly in the dusky atmosphere, “is partly his doing. A part of him does not want to remember, not yet. As long as he is stable, and nothing reminds him of...her...or provokes an emotional response, the spell could hold for some time. However, if he does come to break it himself, without proper handling and understanding, the results could be most unfavorable. Our work could come undone. I suspect the nightmares will continue.”

“The course is set,” a thick Russian accent slurred the words together slightly, “and we must deal with the consequences as they come.”

“We should delegate responsibilities now,” a lilting un-gendered voice murmured, “to allow our resources to center on the vampire.” Sounds of agreement floated throughout the room.

“He will need two,” a willowy voice cut through the din. The entire assembly froze. When the Seer's eyes glowed red, the world stopped to listen. “There must be two to find success, two sides of a broken coin. The one shall guide the lost away from consuming rage and destruction. The other will heal the wounds of a childe. The whole will show the world that what was can be, and acceptance is the first step towards being accepted.” Her eyes returned to their natural state. “Do you understand?” The pair nodded. “His path will not be easy, and you must not give up on him, even when he gives up on himself. He will break into a million pieces in his quest to be whole. He will do great things if he believes.”

“Believes? In what? Himself? Good? ... Evil?” the woman asked. The S shook her head.

“You are asking the wrong questions.”


	5. Chapter 5

Spike slept through the next night and day, waking up bleary eyed, head pounding. He felt like he had the worst hangover in history but couldn’t remember what the hell he’d done to deserve it. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but his arms collapsed weakly on the bed, unable to support his full weight. His eyes focused on a pair of blue balls sitting on the unfamiliar bedside table. He felt a rising surge of hysteria. Blue balls. Ha. The tide of emotions threatened to carry him away, deeper into that dark place he could feel within him. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths, trying to center himself. He was alright. He wasn't weak. He could do this. Spike gritted his teeth. He may not be able to walk, but he sure as hell should be able to sit up by himself. That shouldn’t take much effort. He had no idea how incredibly wrong he was.

Twenty minutes later, Spike lay exhausted on the bed, a light sheen of sweat coating his body. What kind of person couldn't even sit up in bed without help? The exhaustion that overwhelmed him, sinking heavily into to every part of his body, wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt; not even when he’d been teaching himself to walk the last time. He felt like he’d just gone two rounds with the best slayer that had ever walked the earth and barely lived to tell the tale.

_But a least you're alive_ , a voice whispered. He picked one tired, heavy arm up, and growled his anger when it started to shake. He didn't even realize the tears had broken loose until one splashed on his uncontrollable limb. He looked around frantically for something to throw, but realized all he had were his pillows...which he doubted he could lift at this point anyways.

The reality of his situation hit him with the force of a Mac truck. He was completely and utterly dependent on these people for his well being. If they wanted to, they could just leave him to rot here on this bed, and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. And Spike HATED to be dependent on anyone.

_Let it out_ , that same voice whispered to him. Spike threw his head back a screamed with rage, frustration, anger, and all of his other pent-up emotions. He screamed until his already-raw throat refused to work anymore, and screamed silently after that, body tense and unyielding. He felt better.

With renewed determination, he tried again, but he barely had enough energy to weakly lift his head. The insidious voice of Angelus whispered at him, he was weak, helpless, and worthless.

He remembered his years under Angelus’ brutal tutelage, when he could never be good enough for his sadistic sire. He was always lacking, whether it be his flare for the kill or his inability to claim Dru as his own. Angelus had spent years telling looking down at Spike, younger and weaker and worthless because of it. Angelus used Spike's love of words against him, knowing just what to say to make the most impact; and he always punctuated his words with some pointedly painful physical lesson. Then, as now, Spike had sworn to himself he'd succeed. He'd take Dru from Angelus once and for all. He'd sit the _bloody fuck_ up.

Only he always failed.

Not once in his life had he managed to truly one up Angelus. There had been that one time, with Acathla...but no. In the end, that had been _Angel._ He'd tried to spin the whole soul-thing, tried to convince himself Angel was Angelus, that he'd still won. Spike snorted. Couldn't even convince himself of that one. He'd failed then, and now he was failing again. Just on a grander scale. Maybe there was something to Angelus' words.

Spike simmered in his misery, the overwhelming task looming ahead of him.

***

“This sucks,” Alanna muttered. “Why did they do this to him?”

“Because the price for saving him wasn’t one **you** could pay,” Leto said gently. Alanna glanced sharply at him to see if he was kidding, but Leto was quite serious. They’d been watching this particular vampire for a while now, and for all Spike had been though, the young vamp been dealt one hell of a raw deal by the PTBs. And Alanna was PISSED. He could feel her emotions raging beneath the controlled exterior she was presenting. Internally she was a maelstrom of emotions, seething at the Powers who refused to help Spike. Great reward for someone who had sacrificed everything to save the world.

“Ma Petite,” he murmured, wrapping her in his arms. She relaxed into him, but he could smell the rage pouring off of her. “Stop acting your age. It scares me when you’re mature.” He was rewarded with a curt laugh. They held each other, commiserating in their charge’s plight and seemingly needless suffering.

“You could always ask them.”

“I did. I got the cryptic runaround. The _Seer_ is more forthcoming about her predictions and she doesn't even know what she's talking about half the time.” She pulled away so she could look at him. “How do you feel about it?”

Her brown eyes shone with concern and Leto felt a genuine smile tug at his lips. He brushed her flaming hair aside, savoring the soft curls and the sharp scent of her.

“I couldn’t help but be involved,” he said softly, “he’s family.”

***

Buffy stared over the shimmering lights of Rome, noting absently that most people would have found this view beautiful and tranquil. Buffy felt...nothing. Well, that wasn’t true. She felt something. She felt a lot of something. But she would rather feel nothing.

She felt him, felt his intent long before he got to her.

Her friends had told her to move on, that she had been moping around for long enough. Willow had started bringing over ‘co-workers’ a few months after The Day. Buffy really had no idea where Willow was dredging up such a steady stream of prospective suitors in Rome; regardless, she had no interest in any of them. There was only one person she wanted, and he only haunted her dreams.

A few months A.S. (After Sunnydale or After Spike, Buffy thought with a small smile that lacked anything approaching amusement), Buffy’s distressed, heart-broken cries had woken Dawn and a visiting Willow. They’d found her huddled on the bed almost incoherent. She’d managed a mangled telling of the dream about him, in a clearing with a pond, the story gasped out between gut-wrenching sobs. Willow had called Giles, who had promptly flown to Rome to console his charge and to make sure she didn't do anything...drastic. Wills and Giles had both counseled Buffy about holding on to the impossible and how, for her own sake, she needed to let him go. They’d both refused to listen to her when she’d tried to explain that she needed to remember. Remember everything.

How he smelled, of cigarettes and whisky and leather and _man_. How he’d almost given up his life for Dawn. How he smirked his way through life. The clear, earnest blue of his eyes when he was telling her things about herself she'd tried to ignore. How he’s shown her life was worth living. How he walked, all jaunty and devil-may-care. How his bleached shock of hair disappeared when he became a stealthy predator. The languid, rolling gait he adopted right before a fight, and the power in his movements when they danced.

They told her that he would want her to move on, to find someone that could make her happy. They didn’t listen when she said that she couldn’t, that there was no one else. It was like coming out of Heaven all over again; they wanted the shiny happy Buffy back. Six months was more than enough time to stop having nightmares, to stop waking up in tears every morning for something she could never have. But it wasn’t. Not for her. Eternity wouldn't be long enough.

Only Dawn understood, so Dawn was the only one who got to see the real Buffy these days. Not that the other Scoobies looked deep enough to uncover her facade. (Not that they were really the Scoobies anymore; Xander had disappeared shortly after Sunnydale collapsed and hadn’t been heard from since.) She’d long since learned that they only saw what they wanted to, only acknowledged that which they needed to see to convince themselves she was okay. But they knew, on some small, hidden level, that Buffy had drawn away from them and the world, despite all signs to the contrary. And after endless weeks of convincing, coaxing, and lecturing, Buffy was going to ‘move on.’

“Are you ready, cara mia?” Buffy turned to him with a small smile, ready for her date.

***

Lounging in his penthouse overlooking L.A., Angel turned his pensive gaze towards the east, as he had been doing for almost a week. He'd been minding his own business when suddenly the bond of family had stirred within him, signaling the awakening of his most annoying childe. Well, technically Dru’s most annoy childe, though the sire bond was far stronger with Angelus, who had trained and molded Spike since Dru was a less than capable sire. For all intents and purposes, Spike was his childe, marked and claimed as such. His childe who was supposed to be buried beneath the rubble of Sunnydale and out of his life for good. Only he wasn’t. So Angel had used his considerable influence as C.E.O. of Wolfram and Hart to track him down.

And come up completely empty.

According to every one of his sources--legitimate, illegitimate, and Senior Partner level--Spike was well and truly dead. Only Angel knew he wasn’t. And that was very disturbing, because Spike could ruin everything. It was time to start keeping a closer watch on Buffy.


	6. Chapter 6

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!” An annoyingly perky voice dragged a miserable Spike into consciousness. Spike cracked open a bleary eye to see just whom he had to kill to get a decent sleep. She was tall and willowy and most definitely a demon. Her hair was stark white and brushed the top of her waist. Her eyes were ice blue, but strangely warm and compelling. They were deep, almost...hypnotic. Her skin was white with a light blue tint that highlighted her features. Full red lips provided a contrast that made her truly stunning.

“Hi!” said Perky Voice, “I’m Sirra. I’ll be your physical therapist! How do you like the new digs? Sure beats a hospital. Man, I hate hospitals, they're so sterile and unfriendly, you know? And I really think people do their best work at home where they're comfortable.”

“Are you always this perky?” Spike interrupted grimly. Jesus, this bint could give Harmony a run for her money when it came to senseless prattle. Sirra let out a throaty chuckle that was completely at odds with the bright, grating voice she’d used earlier.

“Actually, no. That was purely for my benefit. Woke you right up, didn’t it?” With voice pitched to a less mind numbing tone and her ruby lips stretched into a genuine smile, Spike grudgingly concluded she was bearable. Maybe. But damnation, what was WITH this place and the shiny happy people who were ridiculously nice to him? Was there something in the water? Spike studied her as she walked around like she owned the place, setting towels, lotions, and other items around him. “So today is just a testing day. I'm going to test your muscle strength and build up, see about your stamina, and then we'll come up with a schedule. Any questions?”

“So you're gonna put your hands all over my tight, hot bod Lips?” Spike pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth and gave her his best leer, trying for bravado he didn't really feel.

Sirra just laughed at the smirking vamp--this one had fire. That was good. He had a lot of work ahead of him, and was going to need every scrap of defiance and will he could find. Leaning towards him, she whispered in his ear, “You know it baby. And when I’m done massaging you, you’ll be screaming my name. I guarantee it.”

\---

“You bloody bitch! I’ll wear your guts for garters! Stop touching me!” Spike growled. So much for do no bloody harm; this was cruel, unusual, got-nothin’-on-Angelus torture. He raised his head and growled at Sirra when he felt her hands move to another sensitive part of his anatomy. “Goddamit! That bloody well *hurts* you daft bint!”

Sirra clucked her tongue at him disapprovingly. “Really, Spike. You’ve survived worse than this!” Something tugged at Spike’s consciousness, something that he should—fuck! “Come ON. It's just a little massage.” What the bloody hell kind of massage was this?

“A MASSAGE? This is not a massage. This is...this is worse than having my innards ripped out by a hell god, worse than the French winning the world cup! Angelus in a bloody tutu is better than this! Arguh! Seriously, who do you massage? Satan?” Spike whimpered and moaned his way through the rest of Sirra’s 'therapy'. “I hope whoever you’re shaggin’ knows what he’s getting’ into with you. OW!” Sirra smirked at her patient and got one last dig in before calling it quits.

“There, all done!” Sirra said in that perky voice that she knew drove him batty. Spike decided his future was not looking bright. “Oh, stop playing the martyr. It’s not that bad.”

Spike glared at her and swore under his breath. It’s never ‘that bad’ for the torturer.

“Alright, I’m going to put you through some strength-building exercises. You can do some of these on your own, but don’t over do it, and don’t try to improvise. You’ll end up doing more harm than good if you do.”

The next half hour passed in a blur, and by the end of it Spike was well and truly exhausted. He could barely lift his legs, and the few inches he managed left him shaking and drained. Sirra assured him he was in better shape than he thought, but Spike wasn't fooled. People who were in good shape could walk and sit up in bed, and didn’t need physical therapy. Despite her words of encouragement, he couldn’t help but think she was just trying to make him feel better. It would fit with the ‘Help the Spike’ game these people were playing. Sirra gave him a quick, professional rub down that left Spike feeling even more morose. He couldn’t make it to the shower without help, couldn’t undress, couldn’t get back out...his thoughts grew darker with every passing moment.

Sirra left him brooding and dark, closing the door with a long sigh.

“Well?” Sirra rolled her eyes at the eager slayer lurking in the hall.

“Hi, Lena, how are you? How’s your day been? Mine's been fabulous, massaging surly vampires all afternoon, but it’s good to see you too,” she dead paned.

“Right, right, whatever. Hi. How is he?”

“He’s not taking it well. He wants too much too fast. He thinks I’m lying when I tell him he’s in a very good place physically. He wants to walk now, but that’s not going to happen. He’s getting depressed, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Is there anyth--“

“No. He’s got to hit bottom and drag himself up. All you can do is be there when it happens and hope it’s enough.” Sirra met the troubled brown eyes, sympathizing with Alanna. She was, at her core, a healer. The Powers were playing some kind of cruel joke when they'd Called her. But that was in the past, and there was someone she could help now.

“Look, you should give him some time. If he’s still down when you go back, then there's a good chance he’ll hit sooner than later,” Sirra suggested. The pain in her friend’s eyes tore at her heart, but there was really nothing any of them could do...but wait.

“Yeah. Alright,” a subdued, distracted Alanna responded.

***

Spike flung a mug across the room, satisfied with the sharp sound of shattering ceramic and the dull thuds of the shards hitting the carpet. His anger spun wild and hot, and he wanted nothing more than to hunt something down and tear its throat out. Revel in its pain. A plate, the lamp, and a pillow followed in short order, their destruction not assuaging Spike's anger in the least. A constant, deep growling had filled the room as Spike rampaged in his limited space.

The sharp scent of blood drew him out of his stupor. He looked down and was distantly surprised to see deep furrows scratched into his arm.

***

 

It was a moody Spike that greeted Alanna that evening, his jaw tight, anger and frustration simmering behind blue eyes. Alanna took in the destruction, the white feathers strewn about the room, her nose flaring as she scented blood. She saw the deep gouges on Spike's arm and frowned, but decided that the last thing she needed to do was call attention to it.

“What’s with the long face, White Fang?” Spike looked up at the smirking slayer, his incredulity over taking everything else.

“White Fang? Elmo. Seriously.” Alanna just shrugged unapologetically.

“I figure I’ll stumble across a truly inspired nickname someday. Not all of us are as gifted as you, Spikey McSpikersen.” She managed to draw a painfully thin smile out of the preoccupied vampire. “How’d therapy go?” she asked settling into a chair by the bed. She watched Spike retreat inward at her question. If this was how he responded to the first day, she was worried about the future.

“I brought you a present!” she exclaimed brightly, abruptly changing the subject. Reaching into her bottomless messenger bag, she pulled out her gift and set it on the bedside table. Despite himself, Spike had to look. A loud guffaw forced itself through his chest.

“Tell me that is NOT what I think it is!” There, on his bedside table, was a Dracula bobble head doll. Not those silly fake things they sold in souvenir shops, but a true likeness of the real Drac in bobblehead form.

“Yeah. Dracula passed through here a while ago, thought he would set up shop in our nice little town and sow a few seeds of chaos and mayhem. He bailed pretty quickly when Dracula memorabilia started showing up. I think my favorites were the “W.W.D.D.” paraphernalia and the “Whack-a-Drac” game at the fair.”

“That’s...really kind of brilliant,” Spike said, enjoying the images of a Drac-themed county fair. Spike suspiciously though that Alanna was becoming a friend. She'd been by every day since he'd woken up and came bearing some pretty spectacular presents. And she seemed to genuinely enjoy his company...all of which made Spike suspicious. “Ready to rock and roll?”

“No sure about the rockin’...but I can roll,” Spike returned. Not suspicious enough to forgo her company. Especially considering she was his only ~~friend~~ acquaintance in this weirdly charming town. Alanna, for her part, decided not to comment on the self-deprecating tone, focusing on the fact that Spike was making jokes.

Alanna took Spike on a tour of the Main House where the Seek lived. He kept trying to guess if the demons who passed him were members of the Seek or not, sulking at her when she refused to verify his selections.

“I don’t think you even know them, Elmo. You’re just making the whole mess up.”

“Then why do you keep asking me?” she asked mildly, giggling at his frustrated growl.

“I’m hurt. Least you could do is give a bloke a straight answer,” he said, turning on his charm and looking at her with his wide blue eyes. She just laughed in his face, steering him towards the elevator.

“Eh, well since I run this entire operation, you don’t really need to know anyone but me. I mean, since I’m Top Dog everyone else is just the Little People.” Spike craned his neck around, giving her a “Don’t mess with the cripple” look. She maturely stuck her tongue out at him, the melodic laughter that accompanied the action music to his ears.

Spike was amazed at the entire operation; the Council could learn a thing or two from these blokes. There was a library in the basement that Giles could happily spend the rest of his life looking through and barely even make a dent. There was a giant vault filled with magical items, some of them so powerful the literally made the hairs on Spike’s head stand up. Alanna even told him about some of the current operations they were investigating, including a hellmouth in Cleveland. Sirra popped up at the end of their tour and invited them to dinner in the building’s cafeteria.

“You know Alanna, while you’re hanging out with Spike, maybe you could, I dunno, toughen him up? He cried like a little baby during his entire session,” Sirra said. The mischievous sparkle in her eye took away any reproach Spike may have read into it, though it stung a little. He hid his reaction with a smirk and a shrug.

“Yeah, well, if Satan had retracted her claws, I may have enjoyed myself a little more,” he fired back, pleased when he elicited a strangled snort from Alanna.

“Wha...excuse me! I do not have claws!” Sierra spluttered.

“But you’re not denying you’re Satan,” Spike stated smugly.

“No, I didn’t...I never...Alanna! Control your vampire!” The red headed slayer just laughed and held up her hands as if to say ‘Don’t ask me.’ Spike took a moment to wonder at how easily he fell into banter with these people...and just how much he trusted them. Granted, some of that was manufactured trust. He was in a wheelchair and pretty much incapable of helping himself in any way. But a lot of the time, he forgot that; they didn’t make a big deal about it. Which was weird, considering his life revolved around physical therapy and Alanna's free time.

Acceptance and trust were not things the Master vampire was used too. He puzzled over his inclusion in this tight knit group and the alien feeling of acceptance as Sirra and Alanna bantered, tossing inside jokes back and forth with lightening speed. Spike sipped his blood, lost in his thoughts.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Spike,” Sirra said with a malicious grin. Spike merely leaned back and smiled serenely

“Ta, Lips. Save a special spot in hell for me, yeah?” Sirra turned on her heel and left in a huff.

“Anyone tell you it was a bad idea to piss off your therapist?” Alanna asked. Spike just grinned and took a long gulp of his dinner.

“Oh, you’ve got an eyelash, hold on!” Spike froze as Alanna leaned over the table and brushed a finger across his cheek, the atmosphere suddenly becoming much more intimate. He thought back to their short but powerful relationship. Ever since he’d woken up, she had been there, worrying and making sure he was comfortable. Sometimes, he caught her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking...could she...?

Mixed feelings were coursing through him, feelings Spike wasn’t ready to face. The slayer was nice, gorgeous really, great personality and a cute little ass, but... He wondered awkwardly how he could let the slayer down gently. She was really the only thing keeping him sane at the moment, the only person he knew here, but...

“Blow.” Spike’s eyes snapped to Alanna’s, his eyes trailing down to the proffered finger. There, on the tip, sat one dark eyelash. Her dark brown eyes were looking into his, a small smile gracing her lips. She was so close he could feel the heat of her body. Spike suddenly felt panicked, emotions warring within him. A part of him was screaming at him to go for it, to move closer and let his breath caress her skin and move the tiny eyelash, take what was being offered. But a more powerful part of him was telling him this wasn’t right, that this slayer wasn’t for him. The ever-present darkness that had bubbled beneath the surface since his entrapment scoffed at the very idea of anyone being interested in an injured, impotent vamp. Spike forced the darkness back, covered it ruthlessly, and went with his instinct. He had learned a long time ago to trust his gut.

“Pet...” he faltered. If this turned out badly, he could end up alone, looking forward to torture sessions with Sirra if only for some sentient contact. In the short week he’d been here, Alanna had become fairly indispensable to him, his link to this world. To lose that now would be crushing. “I...I don’t want to, ah, that is...I don’t like you. Like...that...” He trailed off miserably.

Alanna looked from Spike, to the eyelash sitting on her finger, and back at Spike.

“What?” Spike felt like a right git. She looked so confused. Had he been leading her on? Had his--he winced at the thought--dependence on her sent the wrong message?

“God, luv--” he winced. Wrong word to use in this situation. Way to bugger it up, Spike. Just like everything else. “Look, I like you, being around you, but I can’t...date...you.” Spike watched her processing it.

“Oh.” Alanna blinked, her brain trying to catch up with the weird turn this conversation had taken. She stared at the eyelash on her fingertip, glanced at the really uncomfortable vampire before her and...oh. OH. He...Spike thought...

_“OH!”_

Spike wasn’t prepared for the peals of laughter that followed. He crossed his arms, a decidedly annoyed look on his face. Who laughed at being rejected?

“S-s-sorry, I--“ She looked at Spike’s annoyed expression and cracked up. Again. “You...I...you thought!” Spike was fairly certain that he’d have stormed out by now or sunk silently into a deep dark hole had he been able to. Besides, he was a good looking guy, it wasn't that far out to think someone might find him attractive. ( _Monster aside._ )

“I’m sorry. You just...I’m...hold on.” A more collected Alanna pulled out a sleek cell phone and pressed a speed dial button.

“Hey, got a few? I’m in the caf. Sweet.” She tossed the phone carelessly on the table top. “Sorry. It’s just...been awhile. Since anyone hasn’t known. Kinda took me by surprise.”

“Known what?” Spike asked, his dark mood still firmly in place. Before Alanna could respond, a pair of slender dark hands drew her chin up. Alanna’s red hair and pale complexion contrasted with the dark stranger behind her, and Spike’s inner poet couldn’t help but admire it, the juxtaposition between light skin and dark. The stranger bent over and placed a kiss on Alanna’s smiling lips before settling on the bench beside her. The man in him couldn’t help but notice they were stunning together.

Spike was momentarily startled by the glittering green eyes that reminded him of...a face flashed through his mind, someone he could quite place; and there was a disturbing sensation that he’d met this man before. But that was impossible. He was fairly certain he’d remember a rather attractive black man with piercing green eyes.

“Spike, this is Leto. He’s my mate.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!” An annoyingly perky voice dragged a miserable Spike into consciousness. Spike cracked open a bleary eye to see just whom he had to kill to get a decent sleep. She was tall and willowy and most definitely a demon. Her hair was stark white and brushed the top of her waist. Her eyes were ice blue, but strangely warm and compelling. They were deep, almost...hypnotic. Her skin was white with a light blue tint that highlighted her features. Full red lips provided a contrast that made her truly stunning.

“Hi!” said Perky Voice, “I’m Sirra. I’ll be your physical therapist! How do you like the new digs? Sure beats a hospital. Man, I hate hospitals, they're so sterile and unfriendly, you know? And I really think people do their best work at home where they're comfortable.”

“Are you always this perky?” Spike interrupted grimly. Jesus, this bint could give Harmony a run for her money when it came to senseless prattle. Sirra let out a throaty chuckle that was completely at odds with the bright, grating voice she’d used earlier.

“Actually, no. That was purely for my benefit. Woke you right up, didn’t it?” With voice pitched to a less mind numbing tone and her ruby lips stretched into a genuine smile, Spike grudgingly concluded she was bearable. Maybe. But damnation, what was WITH this place and the shiny happy people who were ridiculously nice to him? Was there something in the water? Spike studied her as she walked around like she owned the place, setting towels, lotions, and other items around him. “So today is just a testing day. I'm going to test your muscle strength and build up, see about your stamina, and then we'll come up with a schedule. Any questions?”

“So you're gonna put your hands all over my tight, hot bod Lips?” Spike pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth and gave her his best leer, trying for bravado he didn't really feel.

Sirra just laughed at the smirking vamp--this one had fire. That was good. He had a lot of work ahead of him, and was going to need every scrap of defiance and will he could find. Leaning towards him, she whispered in his ear, “You know it baby. And when I’m done massaging you, you’ll be screaming my name. I guarantee it.”

\---

“You bloody bitch! I’ll wear your guts for garters! Stop touching me!” Spike growled. So much for do no bloody harm; this was cruel, unusual, got-nothin’-on-Angelus torture. He raised his head and growled at Sirra when he felt her hands move to another sensitive part of his anatomy. “Goddamit! That bloody well *hurts* you daft bint!”

Sirra clucked her tongue at him disapprovingly. “Really, Spike. You’ve survived worse than this!” Something tugged at Spike’s consciousness, something that he should—fuck! “Come ON. It's just a little massage.” What the bloody hell kind of massage was this?

“A MASSAGE? This is not a massage. This is...this is worse than having my innards ripped out by a hell god, worse than the French winning the world cup! Angelus in a bloody tutu is better than this! Arguh! Seriously, who do you massage? Satan?” Spike whimpered and moaned his way through the rest of Sirra’s 'therapy'. “I hope whoever you’re shaggin’ knows what he’s getting’ into with you. OW!” Sirra smirked at her patient and got one last dig in before calling it quits.

“There, all done!” Sirra said in that perky voice that she knew drove him batty. Spike decided his future was not looking bright. “Oh, stop playing the martyr. It’s not that bad.”

Spike glared at her and swore under his breath. It’s never ‘that bad’ for the torturer.

“Alright, I’m going to put you through some strength-building exercises. You can do some of these on your own, but don’t over do it, and don’t try to improvise. You’ll end up doing more harm than good if you do.”

The next half hour passed in a blur, and by the end of it Spike was well and truly exhausted. He could barely lift his legs, and the few inches he managed left him shaking and drained. Sirra assured him he was in better shape than he thought, but Spike wasn't fooled. People who were in good shape could walk and sit up in bed, and didn’t need physical therapy. Despite her words of encouragement, he couldn’t help but think she was just trying to make him feel better. It would fit with the ‘Help the Spike’ game these people were playing. Sirra gave him a quick, professional rub down that left Spike feeling even more morose. He couldn’t make it to the shower without help, couldn’t undress, couldn’t get back out...his thoughts grew darker with every passing moment.

Sirra left him brooding and dark, closing the door with a long sigh.

“Well?” Sirra rolled her eyes at the eager slayer lurking in the hall.

“Hi, Lena, how are you? How’s your day been? Mine's been fabulous, massaging surly vampires all afternoon, but it’s good to see you too,” she dead paned.

“Right, right, whatever. Hi. How is he?”

“He’s not taking it well. He wants too much too fast. He thinks I’m lying when I tell him he’s in a very good place physically. He wants to walk now, but that’s not going to happen. He’s getting depressed, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Is there anyth--“

“No. He’s got to hit bottom and drag himself up. All you can do is be there when it happens and hope it’s enough.” Sirra met the troubled brown eyes, sympathizing with Alanna. She was, at her core, a healer. The Powers were playing some kind of cruel joke when they'd Called her. But that was in the past, and there was someone she could help now.

“Look, you should give him some time. If he’s still down when you go back, then there's a good chance he’ll hit sooner than later,” Sirra suggested. The pain in her friend’s eyes tore at her heart, but there was really nothing any of them could do...but wait.

“Yeah. Alright,” a subdued, distracted Alanna responded.

***

Spike flung a mug across the room, satisfied with the sharp sound of shattering ceramic and the dull thuds of the shards hitting the carpet. His anger spun wild and hot, and he wanted nothing more than to hunt something down and tear its throat out. Revel in its pain. A plate, the lamp, and a pillow followed in short order, their destruction not assuaging Spike's anger in the least. A constant, deep growling had filled the room as Spike rampaged in his limited space.

The sharp scent of blood drew him out of his stupor. He looked down and was distantly surprised to see deep furrows scratched into his arm.

***

 

It was a moody Spike that greeted Alanna that evening, his jaw tight, anger and frustration simmering behind blue eyes. Alanna took in the destruction, the white feathers strewn about the room, her nose flaring as she scented blood. She saw the deep gouges on Spike's arm and frowned, but decided that the last thing she needed to do was call attention to it.

“What’s with the long face, White Fang?” Spike looked up at the smirking slayer, his incredulity over taking everything else.

“White Fang? Elmo. Seriously.” Alanna just shrugged unapologetically.

“I figure I’ll stumble across a truly inspired nickname someday. Not all of us are as gifted as you, Spikey McSpikersen.” She managed to draw a painfully thin smile out of the preoccupied vampire. “How’d therapy go?” she asked settling into a chair by the bed. She watched Spike retreat inward at her question. If this was how he responded to the first day, she was worried about the future.

“I brought you a present!” she exclaimed brightly, abruptly changing the subject. Reaching into her bottomless messenger bag, she pulled out her gift and set it on the bedside table. Despite himself, Spike had to look. A loud guffaw forced itself through his chest.

“Tell me that is NOT what I think it is!” There, on his bedside table, was a Dracula bobble head doll. Not those silly fake things they sold in souvenir shops, but a true likeness of the real Drac in bobblehead form.

“Yeah. Dracula passed through here a while ago, thought he would set up shop in our nice little town and sow a few seeds of chaos and mayhem. He bailed pretty quickly when Dracula memorabilia started showing up. I think my favorites were the “W.W.D.D.” paraphernalia and the “Whack-a-Drac” game at the fair.”

“That’s...really kind of brilliant,” Spike said, enjoying the images of a Drac-themed county fair. Spike suspiciously though that Alanna was becoming a friend. She'd been by every day since he'd woken up and came bearing some pretty spectacular presents. And she seemed to genuinely enjoy his company...all of which made Spike suspicious. “Ready to rock and roll?”

“No sure about the rockin’...but I can roll,” Spike returned. Not suspicious enough to forgo her company. Especially considering she was his only ~~friend~~ acquaintance in this weirdly charming town. Alanna, for her part, decided not to comment on the self-deprecating tone, focusing on the fact that Spike was making jokes.

Alanna took Spike on a tour of the Main House where the Seek lived. He kept trying to guess if the demons who passed him were members of the Seek or not, sulking at her when she refused to verify his selections.

“I don’t think you even know them, Elmo. You’re just making the whole mess up.”

“Then why do you keep asking me?” she asked mildly, giggling at his frustrated growl.

“I’m hurt. Least you could do is give a bloke a straight answer,” he said, turning on his charm and looking at her with his wide blue eyes. She just laughed in his face, steering him towards the elevator.

“Eh, well since I run this entire operation, you don’t really need to know anyone but me. I mean, since I’m Top Dog everyone else is just the Little People.” Spike craned his neck around, giving her a “Don’t mess with the cripple” look. She maturely stuck her tongue out at him, the melodic laughter that accompanied the action music to his ears.

Spike was amazed at the entire operation; the Council could learn a thing or two from these blokes. There was a library in the basement that Giles could happily spend the rest of his life looking through and barely even make a dent. There was a giant vault filled with magical items, some of them so powerful the literally made the hairs on Spike’s head stand up. Alanna even told him about some of the current operations they were investigating, including a hellmouth in Cleveland. Sirra popped up at the end of their tour and invited them to dinner in the building’s cafeteria.

“You know Alanna, while you’re hanging out with Spike, maybe you could, I dunno, toughen him up? He cried like a little baby during his entire session,” Sirra said. The mischievous sparkle in her eye took away any reproach Spike may have read into it, though it stung a little. He hid his reaction with a smirk and a shrug.

“Yeah, well, if Satan had retracted her claws, I may have enjoyed myself a little more,” he fired back, pleased when he elicited a strangled snort from Alanna.

“Wha...excuse me! I do not have claws!” Sierra spluttered.

“But you’re not denying you’re Satan,” Spike stated smugly.

“No, I didn’t...I never...Alanna! Control your vampire!” The red headed slayer just laughed and held up her hands as if to say ‘Don’t ask me.’ Spike took a moment to wonder at how easily he fell into banter with these people...and just how much he trusted them. Granted, some of that was manufactured trust. He was in a wheelchair and pretty much incapable of helping himself in any way. But a lot of the time, he forgot that; they didn’t make a big deal about it. Which was weird, considering his life revolved around physical therapy and Alanna's free time.

Acceptance and trust were not things the Master vampire was used too. He puzzled over his inclusion in this tight knit group and the alien feeling of acceptance as Sirra and Alanna bantered, tossing inside jokes back and forth with lightening speed. Spike sipped his blood, lost in his thoughts.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Spike,” Sirra said with a malicious grin. Spike merely leaned back and smiled serenely

“Ta, Lips. Save a special spot in hell for me, yeah?” Sirra turned on her heel and left in a huff.

“Anyone tell you it was a bad idea to piss off your therapist?” Alanna asked. Spike just grinned and took a long gulp of his dinner.

“Oh, you’ve got an eyelash, hold on!” Spike froze as Alanna leaned over the table and brushed a finger across his cheek, the atmosphere suddenly becoming much more intimate. He thought back to their short but powerful relationship. Ever since he’d woken up, she had been there, worrying and making sure he was comfortable. Sometimes, he caught her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking...could she...?

Mixed feelings were coursing through him, feelings Spike wasn’t ready to face. The slayer was nice, gorgeous really, great personality and a cute little ass, but... He wondered awkwardly how he could let the slayer down gently. She was really the only thing keeping him sane at the moment, the only person he knew here, but...

“Blow.” Spike’s eyes snapped to Alanna’s, his eyes trailing down to the proffered finger. There, on the tip, sat one dark eyelash. Her dark brown eyes were looking into his, a small smile gracing her lips. She was so close he could feel the heat of her body. Spike suddenly felt panicked, emotions warring within him. A part of him was screaming at him to go for it, to move closer and let his breath caress her skin and move the tiny eyelash, take what was being offered. But a more powerful part of him was telling him this wasn’t right, that this slayer wasn’t for him. The ever-present darkness that had bubbled beneath the surface since his entrapment scoffed at the very idea of anyone being interested in an injured, impotent vamp. Spike forced the darkness back, covered it ruthlessly, and went with his instinct. He had learned a long time ago to trust his gut.

“Pet...” he faltered. If this turned out badly, he could end up alone, looking forward to torture sessions with Sirra if only for some sentient contact. In the short week he’d been here, Alanna had become fairly indispensable to him, his link to this world. To lose that now would be crushing. “I...I don’t want to, ah, that is...I don’t like you. Like...that...” He trailed off miserably.

Alanna looked from Spike, to the eyelash sitting on her finger, and back at Spike.

“What?” Spike felt like a right git. She looked so confused. Had he been leading her on? Had his--he winced at the thought--dependence on her sent the wrong message?

“God, luv--” he winced. Wrong word to use in this situation. Way to bugger it up, Spike. Just like everything else. “Look, I like you, being around you, but I can’t...date...you.” Spike watched her processing it.

“Oh.” Alanna blinked, her brain trying to catch up with the weird turn this conversation had taken. She stared at the eyelash on her fingertip, glanced at the really uncomfortable vampire before her and...oh. OH. He...Spike thought...

_“OH!”_

Spike wasn’t prepared for the peals of laughter that followed. He crossed his arms, a decidedly annoyed look on his face. Who laughed at being rejected?

“S-s-sorry, I--“ She looked at Spike’s annoyed expression and cracked up. Again. “You...I...you thought!” Spike was fairly certain that he’d have stormed out by now or sunk silently into a deep dark hole had he been able to. Besides, he was a good looking guy, it wasn't that far out to think someone might find him attractive. ( _Monster aside._ )

“I’m sorry. You just...I’m...hold on.” A more collected Alanna pulled out a sleek cell phone and pressed a speed dial button.

“Hey, got a few? I’m in the caf. Sweet.” She tossed the phone carelessly on the table top. “Sorry. It’s just...been awhile. Since anyone hasn’t known. Kinda took me by surprise.”

“Known what?” Spike asked, his dark mood still firmly in place. Before Alanna could respond, a pair of slender dark hands drew her chin up. Alanna’s red hair and pale complexion contrasted with the dark stranger behind her, and Spike’s inner poet couldn’t help but admire it, the juxtaposition between light skin and dark. The stranger bent over and placed a kiss on Alanna’s smiling lips before settling on the bench beside her. The man in him couldn’t help but notice they were stunning together.

Spike was momentarily startled by the glittering green eyes that reminded him of...a face flashed through his mind, someone he could quite place; and there was a disturbing sensation that he’d met this man before. But that was impossible. He was fairly certain he’d remember a rather attractive black man with piercing green eyes.

“Spike, this is Leto. He’s my mate.”


	8. Chapter 8

Buffy laughed at a joke, let her hand brush against his arm, her eyes linger a bit on his face. Every movement, every word was a carefully constructed play, crafted and practiced. David smiled brilliantly at her, and Buffy felt a twinge of regret at her deception.

But only a twinge.

After all, she was just moving on.

***

Spike settled into something of a routine. He’d have breakfast and therapy with Sirra, then Alanna would pop up and they’d explore Haven. Leto was tagging along more often, and Spike was developing a deep sense of respect for the elder vampire. Not once did he mock Spike’s condition, or make him feel belittled. Despite his age and power, Leto never acted like Spike was inferior, which in Spike’s experience was not the way most vampires acted. He was musing about the odd turn his life had taken when Leto popped in.

“Ah, hi. Can I…come in?”

“Sure. Where’s Alanna?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing.” Spike arched an eyebrow. Leto seemed...nervous. “She’s…um, well, she’s…not here.”

“What?”

“She’s off on a mission so you’re stuck with me for the day.” It came out in a rush. Spike blinked twice.

“Well alright. What’s the plan?”

“Oh. Right, the plan. Been by the Coven yet?” Spike froze. The Coven? NO he hadn’t been there. Leto may have been different, but there was no way in hell he was setting foot in a building that housed God-knows how many vampires in it. Not stuck in this soddin’ wheelchair.

“Don’t think so, mate.” He felt the weight of Leto’s gaze on him.

“Scared?” Spike whipped around and pinned the black man with icy blue eyes.

“Scared? No. Aiming to survive? Yes.”

“They already know about you. New vamps in Haven? Rarer than you think,” Leto said dryly. Spike folded his arms across his chest and Let sighed deeply. Not a good sign. However, if Spike thought he had anything on Alanna’s stubbornness, he was very wrong. He’d been with Alanna for a long time now, and if she’d taught him anything, it was how to take care of stubbornness.

“Look, if you’re scared and don’t want to go, that’s fine. But you’re not leaving this room until you agree to go.” He almost laughed at the dumbfounded expression on Spike’s face.

“You…you can’t do that. This is Haven, all Rah-Rah Go Christmas and puppy dogs, let’s save the world. You can’t…hold me hostage!”

“Sure I can. Lena’s gone, don’t know when she’ll be back. I’m pretty sure I can convince Sirra you’re not up to exercise. She thinks you’ve been a little overworked as it is. It would be easy.”

“You…that’s wrong!”

“Vampire. Evil. Well. Evil might be a stretch at this point. How about morally ambiguous?” Leto suggested with a shrug. “Look, just come with me. If you don’t like it, you never have to go again.” He waited impatiently for Spike’s acquiescence. He could see the younger man thinking it over, his defenses wearing down, knew what the final answer would be.

“No more house arrest,” Spike bargained. Leto did a silent Superior Dance.

“Never again, scout's honor.”

“Right. You predate the scouts.”

“Well…” okay, Spike had him there. “I ate one once?” The two vampires looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

***

Spike was nervous. The house looked normal from the outside, but he could feel the demonic pull that said vampires. Lots of vampires. Many of the windows were shuttered against the sunlight, though simply so the rooms’ occupants could sleep.

“You’ll be fine,” a gruff voice assured him. Yeah, Leto could say that. He could _walk._

Leto wheeled him into a living area. Spike was surprised to see some humans eating in a kitchen, a couple rummaging through the stocked fridge...like they lived here.

“They do,” Leto said. Spike realized belatedly he’d said that last part out loud.

“But…why?”

“Depends. You’d have to ask each one of them. Some of them are servants, sort of a job passed down through the generations. Some of them are lovers. Some of them are…fans of the bite.” Spike’s gaze bored into Leto.

“You let vampires feed off of humans?”

“Everything is voluntary. We take a lot of precautions to make sure of that.”

“If they’re addicted to the bite, that’s not voluntary.” Spike had a flashback to some whey-faced hulk of a man writhing in a vamp suck-house.

“If they’re addicted they can get help. If they want it. Like I said, we have precautions, but we can’t help people who don’t want help. We make sure they’re safe. Shades of gray, Spike.” Spike felt something uncomfortable stir within him and decided to leave the issue alone.

There were at least fifty vampires in the house, in various stages of rest. And he could feel them all. The Masters, the minions, the childer…and the one vampire sitting across the room in green that felt off, though Spike couldn’t figure out why. His eyes kept straying to him, trying to work out what was wrong. But he just couldn’t figure it out.

“So.” Spike looked around, trying to figure out how to ask his question without coming off as a complete git. Leto was looking at him expectantly, and Spike decided he might as well go ahead and make a fool of himself. “That bloke there, in the green. He feels…different,” he finished lamely. Great, just soddin’ wonderful. Leto turned a speculative eye towards the vampire in question.

“Oh. That’s Vaughn. He’s diligo.”

“What?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Diligo. It’s Latin for favored, loved.”

“I know the word. I don’t know what you mean.” Leto gave him a funny look that made Spike wish he hadn’t asked. Actually, he wished he’d never even thought to ask. “You know, forge—“

“Vaughn was sired as a minion, but he’s smart. Smart enough to control his demon’s impulsiveness and general stupidity. It pleased his Sire. So his Sire elevated him; he’s caught between being a childe and being a minion. He’s…diligo. Favored. Above all other minions; with his Sire's favor, and if he’s slick enough, he could end up having more power than a childe.”

“Could…could he ever become a childe?” Spike asked with exaggerated nonchalance, as if they were discussing the weather. He kept his eyes off of Leto, gazing around the room.

“No-o,” Leto said slowly, “childer and minions are different; one can’t be the other. You have to be turned that way. And only a childe can become Master.” Spike nodded once, studying the fascinating pattern of faux marble on the table top. Should he go for question three? He fidgeted, warring within himself. The desire to keep face, to not let Leto know the extent of his lack of education fought with an overwhelming desire to understand things about vampires that Angel had never taken the time to teach him. The scholar in him—the need to know—was the deciding factor, pushing him to go ahead and ask and deal with the consequences later.

“And what…would you say the…um, difference is between siring a minion and a childe?” Leto didn’t respond immediately. Spike wanted to chalk it up to this being a very complicated issue, but it had been almost a minute of silence. And Spike could feel those glittering green eyes that always stirred a strange emotional response within him boring into the top of his head. Resigned to his fate, Spike finally met Leto’s gaze. Which was not condescending and dubious but contemplative and…concerned?

“Didn’t your Sire teach you any of this?” he finally asked. Leto watched Spike’s demeanor change, drawing in on himself and erecting a barrier between them, as present and insurmountable as any physical wall. An irrational flair of annoyance at Alanna for leaving him alone to face this raced through him

“’Snot important. You said if I came, you wouldn’t ask again, I want to—“ Leto was suddenly in Spike’s face, his eyes serious.

“Answer me.” It was the voice of an elder vampire commanding the respect and obedience of a younger member. And Spike couldn't help but obey (secretly didn't want to).

“Dru was a bit barmy and Angelus didn’t have time to teach me. He was too busy killin' anything that moved. Taught me some basics, but I learned most of it on m’own.” Spike shrunk back when Leto let out a vicious growl, his vampire face springing forth. Spike noticed with the nonchalance of someone whose death was imminent that every person in the room was focused on the two of them.

“That ape-headed, condescending, know-it all God complexed, broody foreheaded MORON!” Leto growled, shoving himself away from Spike, who got over his surprise quickly because he rather liked what Leto was saying. There was no doubt in Spike’s mind exactly who Leto was talking about.

“You forgot poncey git,” Spike added helpfully, a malicious grin on his full lips.

“I always knew he was a colossal waste of space, but shirking his familial duties is just—“ Leto cut himself off abruptly. “And the bastard's the head of the Aurelius line. Quelle merde.”

“You know Angelus?”

“I’m family, remember?” Leto asked flippantly. “Alright, let’s go.” Spike just sat helplessly as Leto began pushing his chair along; he wasn't in any condition to back up a protest.

“Ah, wh—“

“We’ll start with the fundamentals, move on from there. Master status can only be achieved by a childe, and not any childe at that. Minions’ demons are too weak to ever develop that kind of power and they’re generally too stupid to survive even if they could. Master status takes a combination of many different factors, including something intangible that’s inside each demon. Most of the time, you can feel it; it’s like…a spark that calls one Master to another.

“A lot of Master status has to do with how well blended the demon is. You’re aware by now that every vampire is unique; when a person is turned, the demon doesn’t just take over. If that were the case, we’d all be growling, mindless pack animals who couldn’t even skulk around the fringes of human society. The demon melds with the personality that already exists; that’s why one of the first things a new demon does is hunt down the people in its life. We all carry resentments, usually most strongly towards our own families because we can never really express them, but we’re stopped from carrying those out by the rules of human society. But when those rules suddenly don’t apply any more and you’re stronger, faster, and deadlier than any mere human…”

“You get a killing spree.”

“Exactly. In order to move from being a childe to a Master in your own right, you have to strike a balance. It’s mental and mystical. Some demons will never achieve master status; that’s the spark I’m talking about. Some people don’t have…the will, or the inner resources to make the conversion. There’s also power in names. When someone thinks and calls you a ‘Master,’ there’s a sort of…conveyance. They add to your power; every time someone says something, it adds to it.”

“Like a rumor. It keeps…growing with every telling,” Spike murmured. He was listening avidly to Leto’s words. Spike was barely paying attention to the light and the passing scenery. This is what he’d wanted to know for so many years, but had never been taught.

“Right. That’s a more mystical part of the Master thing. Usually, it takes a lot of time to attaint the amount of respect, and enough of it, to become a Master. Sometimes a Sire will help a childe along by announcing their status to the clan. A sort of cheat, if you will. But killing a slayer works just as well. Now, do you know how to sire a childe as opposed to a minion?”

By the end of the day, Spike’s head was about to explode. Leto had talked nonstop, teaching Spike everything he knew about vampire Lore and legend, and he still wasn’t done. In that one conversation, Spike had learned more about what it meant to be a vampire and their lore than Angelus had ever hinted at knowing. On top of it all, Leto had made up some rather inspired names for Angel. Spike grinned as he recalled some of the more vivid insults and threats Leto had leveled at Spike’s errant sire. Oh, what he would give to put them both in a room together…


	9. Chapter 9

“Five more seconds, Spike, that’s all I need. You can do it…come on! That’s…almost…and done!” Spike tiredly lowered his shaking leg, wincing at the burning pain. He collapsed back onto the bed, ignoring the wave of frustration that threatened to overtake him. He would not give in.

“You’re amazing, Spike,” Sirra murmured. “You’re way further along than we ever dreamed. You’re gaining muscle mass quickly; with any luck, we should start you on the walker soon.”

Spike simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Anger churned in his gut, and it took everything within him not to lash out. She’d been saying that practically since they started, always filled with complements—right after she demanded he push himself a little bit harder. More than three months of the same song and dance. But he still wasn’t walking. Even the exercises he did on his own weren’t helping, not that he could tell. Spike closed his eyes, blocking out his frustration and anger.

Sirra started her muscle-building massage, trying not to wince at the anger and frustration she felt rolling through her charge. She only felt a little guilty not telling Spike she was an empath. But it let her keep Alanna, Leto, and the Seek up-to-date on the vamp, and he had some serious issues boiling underneath his calm, determined exterior. She shook her head; something wasn’t right. She’d been expecting anger and frustration, but this…what she felt in Spike had been growing for a long time. It was old rage, cold and calculating. She closed her eyes and slipped further underneath his façade.

Sirra gasped and dropped the leg she’d been working on, abruptly severing her connection. The intense pain and self-loathing…her eyes filled with tears, and she felt the pain physically.

“Pet? Are you alright?” Spike asked with concern. Sirra was usually a hard-nosed sarcastic bitch; sudden tears weren’t like her at all. And Spike had never been good with crying women.

“Yeah, fine. I…I think I’m going to be sick,” she gasped. “I’m sorry!” Sirra rushed out of the room, her world spinning. There was something dark and sinister in Spike; something very powerful. It could crush him, destroy the person they’d all come to know. It was a boiling cauldron of doubt, anger, rage, self pity, disgust, self loathing…all rolled into one, volatile package. And it was just waiting for something to make it explode.

***

Buffy sat on the balcony, looking over Rome. She found herself doing that a lot these days, seeking the solitude of night. A small, humorless smile etched itself on her face, a pale imitation of the once effortless, effulgent smile that had brightened rooms. To think that once upon a time she’d shunned the darkness, thought the light was where she belonged. The truth was the light held as many scary things as the dark; they were just harder to spot.

_Ah, how the mighty have fallen._

Footsteps approached her haven, and Buffy braced for the intrusion, sliding back into the shiny happy persona. The door slid open and she relaxed.

Dawn settled herself next to her sister. Their view really was spectacular. But her attention was focused on her sister and her mind on the front she was putting up for everyone. In a way, Dawn could understand it. Why she was doing…this. The Scoobies were nothing if not persistent, especially when it came to how they thought Buffy should act or live her life.

“Buff—“

“I know.” The words held a certainty and conviction Dawn hadn’t heard since… She shook away the tears that threatened. Now was not the time.

“It’s…it’s easy,” her sister whispered into the darkness, her eyes far away. Dawn’s heart broke at the desperation she heard. “It’s easy to just…nothing’s been easy for almost a year, Dawnie. And this—it keeps everyone quiet, it gives me the time…please. Please, you have t-t-to under—understand. I n-n-need—“

Dawn wrapped her arms around her sobbing sister, grateful that some of her heartache had found a release. God, she understood. She understood too well. And she was pissed as hell at the Scoobies on top of it. Giles and Willow wondered why she barely talked to them.

“I know, Buffy. I know. And I forgive you.”

\---

Malach kept his attention fixed on the third floor balcony, the two figures so close they melded together in the shadows.

“Yes?” his toneless voice spoke softly into his phone. “She’s there. They’re both there.” He watched the women dispassionately, marking their movements.

“Everything is in place; we can move as soon as you give the word.” His employer chuckled, a sound that held anything but mirth.

Malach ended the call, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. Things were moving, being set in motion. He wouldn’t have to wait too much longer.

***

Sirra stood before the Seek, an annoyed frown on her face.

“How long?” The question hung in the air, mired in tension. She sighed, shaking her head. They weren’t _listening_. What was it about Spike that made everyone lose their heads?

“You don’t understand! This…this THING that’s building inside him…the anger, and rage, and the self-hatred…there’s not a timetable. But something’s going to set it off! Something small, something big, it doesn’t matter. He’s going to reach a breaking point, and all of his demons, all of his issues, everything he’s repressed…it’s going to all come flooding out. It’s going to break him. And he WILL break. But when he does, we need to be ready. THEY,” she gestured to the couple sitting beside her, “need to be read. And available.”

Murmurs flew through the chamber room, thoughts flying, the entirety of the Seek speaking and thinking at once.

“Then our only recourse,” a booming voice announced, “is to ground them. No missions until this is…resolved.” All eyes were fixed on the motionless Slayer and stoic vampire. Alanna and Leto didn't even have to consult one another.

“We accept.”

***

Spike woke up bathed in sweat, breathing hard. He’d had another dream—no, another nightmare. They were getting more frequent, these dreams he could never quite remember. He always woke up in a panic, like there was something he needed to do, some pressing question he needed answered.

Colors flew through his fevered brain—red, gold, black, dark brown…almost chestnut, and eyes of green. The symbols made no sense, but they felt like they should.

He took a deep breath, calming himself. The colors faded, as they always did.


	10. Chapter 10

“Alrighty Spike! This is the Walker Extraordinaire.”

Spike stared dubiously at the contraption. It looked like a gymnast’s parallel bars, but a diaper-like harness dangled from tension wires coming out of the ceiling at one end.

“Looks like fun,” he said sarcastically. Inside, butterflies, bees, and all manners of insect were crawling around his stomach. For the first time in a long time, he felt the urge to run. Because today…today he was going to walk for the first time in...months. Granted, he was going to be strapped into a contraption that supported a good amount of his weight…but he was going to _walk._

“You’ll become best friends,” Sirra said dryly. “So, what we’re going to do is hook you up in the harness. The wires will be relaxed until you’re supporting most—but not all!—of your weight. Don’t look at me like that, we both know you’re not ready for all of it. Now, let’s run down the rules. If you start feeling dizzy or nauseous—“

“I’m a vampire, Lips.”

“—or just generally bad,” she continued undaunted, “you tell me immediately. We don’t want anything to happen that might set you back.” Spike felt a shudder race down his spine at the thought. Sirra stood in front of him, her eyes serious.

“Don’t expect too much from your first time, Spike. This is going to be harder than anything else you’ve done.” Spike nodded solemnly, but an irrepressible part of him was rejoicing at the chance to walk again. Logically, he knew this would still take time…but the idealist in him pictured himself running through cornfields to sappy music in no time at all.

“Alright! Spike, meet Ken and Dar. They’re my assistants. Interns, dontcha know. Boys…let’s get him suited up!”

Spike held his upper body up using the poles, his lower body completely supported by the wiring. He took a deep breath; if he had a pulse right now, it would be racing.

“You ready?” Sirra asked softly. Spike took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. Lower him down. Remember to keep most of your weight in your arms, Spike.”

The two interns relaxed the wires a little at a time until Spike’s feet were flat on the ground. He felt a rush of adrenalin and excitement pass through him; his feet were on the floor! The wire relaxed another centimeter, letting some of the weight pass to Spike's legs…and they promptly collapsed.

“UP!” Sirra hollered, steadying Spike before he flipped forward and bashed his head into the floor.

“Fucking hell!” Spike swore viciously.

“Now now. None of that. It was just the first go. Reset it.” Spike waited patiently as they reset the wires. “okay, you know what to expect now, so just…go with it. Gradual, slow, steady, that’s the key.”

Four more tries, and each time the same result. Spike swore a blue streak each time he fell. He snapped at Sirra, growled at the cowering interns, and felt a hot rush of anger well inside of him. He would do this, goddamn it! He would prove he wasn’t worthless!

“Spike, I think that’s—“

“NO,” he growled. With extreme force of will, he pulled himself up and set each leg down. Locking his knees, he summed every ounce of strength left in his tired, battered body…and stood. Sirra gasped; the sheer amount of power and determination broadcasting from the vampire was breath taking. Before she could stop him, Spike tried to take a step.

***

“What happened?” Leto growled. A scared assistant nearly fell trying to get out of the enraged Master Vampire’s way.

“He’s broken,” Sirra said calmly, testing Spike’s reactions to visual stimuli. Nothing. He was lost completely inside his own head.

“What do you—“

“I MEAN,” Sirra said with annoyance, “he’s finally reached his breaking point.” Really, when would people start LISTENING to her? This was the reason Alanna and Leto had been grounded the past month. “Remember that ticking time bomb of anger and self loathing I told you about? Well, it’s gone off. Took him long enough. You’re going to have to do…something.”

“That’s very reassuring, Sirra,” Leto said sarcastically. “Where the HELL is Alanna?”

“Right behind you, asshole.” Leto spun around and took in the worried countenance of his mate. She knelt beside Spike, her side pressed firmly against Leto's.

“So how do we fix him?” Alanna asked, a Slayer ready to asses the situation and lead her troops to battle.

***

_Spike dispassionately watched the scene play out before him. It didn’t matter; after all, he’d lived through this before._

_The helpless fledge had done something to piss off Angelus…again. He was tied up, beaten and bloody. One eye was swollen shut._

_Angelus kissed Dru passionately, enjoying the heated whimpers of lust. Spike could smell them, the scent of their sex and Dru’s renewed excitement. He closed his eye to block out the sickening scene. His head snapped back, bearing his vulnerable throat._

_“I told you to watch, Willy,” Angel snarled. He delivered a brutal blow to Spike’s unprotected stomach. “She’s mine, Boy. Watch what I do to her, to my property. And know…she’ll never be yours. You couldn’t hold her. Too weak and pathetic.”_

_Spike’s one good eye opened, fixing on the face of his Dark Princess, his salvation. He pleaded with her to ask Angelus to take pity, to say something, acknowledge him anything. But she just lounged, enjoying the show and his humiliation. She arched her back and inhaled the scent of his helplessness._

_“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Boy,” Angel said, licking the side of Spike’s throat. “You weren’t turned to be family. You’re just a glorified nurse maid.”_

_Spike felt shame and despair rise up within him; of all the things Angel and said and done to him, that was the one thing that affected him the most._

***

“He could come out on his own!” Alanna protested.

“Yes,” Sirra conceded, “but do you really want to wait another six months? Spike seems to have a penchant for comas.” Alanna shook her head in frustration, ready to press her point till the end.

“He doesn’t like spells,” she repeated stubbornly.

“Says the Slayer who put him under two,” Leto said without any hint of judgment.

“I—“

“I know why you did it, Alanna. I agree with and understand your reasons, otherwise I never would have gone along with it. But this is the safest, easiest way to bring him back. And we can’t not do it because you’re afraid of how it will affect the memory spell.”

A tense silence fell over the room. Alanna weighed her options carefully, but she’d know since a breathless intern had nearly broken her door down in desperation that there was only one path they could take.

“Summon the Seek.” She had a vampire to save.

***

_Spike was fucking Drusilla into the mattress, pounding into her with all he was worth. She was his savior, his Dark Princess. They belonged together, like this, for eternity._

_His mind screamed in protest at what was about to happen, but he didn’t stop it. He didn’t want to stop it, he deserved this._

_Spike pounded into the supple flesh beneath him, reveling in the feel of her, demon face forward. He felt himself nearing the edge, and he struck._

_“MINE,” he growled. He suddenly found himself thrown halfway across the room, a crazed vampress on top of him. Her claws ripped viciously into his cheek, drawing blood._

_“NO!” she snarled, enraged. She swiped at his face, leaving marks that oozed borrowed blood. She lashed out, toppled him, sent her denial and revulsion through their common link. “Not yours! Never yours. What would Daddy say?”_

_Her claws kept attacking him, her teeth gnashing at his neck. In desperation, Spike threw her across the room. She laughed delightedly, pulling her supple form off the floor, all signs of the mindless rage moments earlier gone. She twirled around the room, humming to herself._

_“My boy’s been naughty, and naughty boys don’t get invited to tea, my Prince.” She twirled about, speaking to Miss Edith and the Pixies, talking about her precious Daddy._

_Spike lay on the floor, fighting back tears._

***

“Who’s going in?” Celina asked. Leto and Alanna exchanged glances.

“It will take both of them,” the Seer interrupted. Her voice carried the force of certainty only a Seer could command. They solemnly acknowledge the Prophetess’ words.

“We're going to have to rework the spell,” Chadra’s whisper of a voice sighed.

“Rework it fast,” Alanna commanded, he face set into a grim line.

***

_Spike felt every sting, relived every blow, and welcomed the punishment. It was what he deserved. He relived every insult, every demeaning act: Angelus forcing him into submission time and again; the dominance claim; Angelus’ idea of sex; Dru’s casual affairs and callous dismissals. But always, always, it came back to Angelus. A ripple went through him, but not enough to interrupt his own, personal peep show. Only now he had voyeurs._


	11. Chapter 11

Dru was cavorting with some Chaos demon as Spike looked on, his face an expressionless mask. The demon was an ugly, slimy bugger. Spike stood as the love of his unlife dismissed him as if he were nothing.

“You’re not nothing,” one of the intruders whispered. Spike didn’t react, but the scene playing out before them jumped. Dru’s harsh words, designed to tear at Spike’s soul, repeated over and over again.

“She doesn’t deserve your tears, and she definitely doesn't deserve your love,” another voice added. Something in the voice pulled at Spike, but he wrenched himself back to the memories her was mired in.

The scene jumped.

Spike was thrown to the floor, already beaten and bruised. He was humiliated and naked, lash marks littering his back and legs. Angelus stepped over the writhing vampire, settling himself on a throne-like chair. A bullwhip was draped over one armrest. The malicious vampire gazed at his captive, an evil glint in his eye. He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the shuddering form huddled on the ground.

“Crawl to me, Boy,” Angelus ordered. Spike struggled to move, but the marks on his back were deep and biting. He collapsed, crying out in pain.

**CRACK.**

The whip whistled through the air and sliced into Spike’s shoulder. The struggling vamp gasped, trying to move towards his torturer while everything in him screamed to flee, to run. But he couldn’t run…and even if he could, he had no where to run to.

“I said _crawl_ , Willy!” The whip whistled again, and Spike’s anguished cry filled the room. He started crawling slowly and painfully towards Angelus, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Every movement brought excruciating pain. Spike’s arms collapsed, sending him to the ground. Angelus rose, eyes blazing with fury.

“I’ll teach you to disobey me, William!” He spat the name with venom. He kicked Spike over, rolling him on to his back. Spike screamed in pain as his tender back came in contact with the rough, dirty stone. Dust and grit bit onto the wounds. “You’re just a pathetic, worthless piece of shit, aren’t ya, Boy?”

Angelus’ laugh sent a shudder through everyone. Angelus took a few measured steps backwards, uncoiling the whip and watching it move sinuously. He raised the whip and brought it down as hard as he could.

***

Leto and Alanna took a moment to orient themselves as the scene abruptly shifted. They were in a dimly lit room; some sort of banquet room. An ornate chair was pushed away from the table. They looked around, but Spike was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly the double doors behind them burst open. Angelus dragged Spike unceremoniously into the room, dumping him onto the floor.

“Leto,” Alanna whispered raggedly, her soul crying out at the injustice Spike had been forced to endure. His strong hand found her, his glittering green eyes focused on the image of Angelus.

They watched as Spike’s will was broken, Angelus’ harsh words and punishing blows driving the strong vampire to the brink. Alanna gasped when a particularly vicious blow landed on Spike, tears streaming down her eyes. She’d known it had been bad, but…this?

Leto’s anger was growing with every second. He’d spent a lot of time with Spike, teaching him vampiric lore…something his sire should have done. But what he was seeing here pissed him the fuck off. He’d experienced his share of the violence of vampire society, which could be vicious and unmerciful. But what Angelus was doing was something entirely different. Childer were supposed to be guided and taught. They were progeny and family in a vicious, immortal world. Angelus…a low growl forced its way out of Leto’s throat.

This was _wrong._ Where was the rest of the coven, who should be standing up for Spike, or at least curtailing Angel's treatment? Why hadn’t anyone done that? Childer weren't playthings, that was what minions were for. Leto watched as Angelus ordered the weakened Spike to crawl to him. Leto’s vampiric visage burst forth when Angelus flipped Spike on his back, grinding his wounds purposefully into the ground. Angelus raised the whip and struck Spike’s unprotected face, leaving a long gash on one cheek. He pulled back to strike again, and Leto made his move.

Using his preternatural speed, Leto threw himself between Spike and the whip, feeling the sting bite into him. But his demon shrugged off the pain, filing it away under the anger ascribed solely to “Angelus.” The blows rained down, unceasing and unforgiving, but Leto refused to move, protecting Spike from Angelus’ assault. And for the first time, piercing blue eyes met his own, focused and clear and full of pain that went beyond this scene.

“You’re worth this,” Leto said, hissing as the whip struck his back again.

***

Leto stumbled into Alanna, drained and still feeling the sting of the whip. She supported him before getting her bearings. She gasped at what she saw.

Spike lay unmoving underneath a faceless woman. The woman was beating him, raining blows unmercifully into his face. Flashes of golden hair appeared and random times, and Alanna knew exactly what was going on here. The conversation was muted and garbled, but Spike just took the beating, not bothering to defend himself, eyes dead. Anger twisted in Alanna's stomach as Spike passively endured the abuse. Leto moved towards them, but Alanna stopped him.

“This is mine,” she said resolutely. With determination, she made her way towards the blonde slayer that even now haunted Spike’s subconscious.

The faceless figure was in mid-blow when Alanna caught the fist. The figure strained against her hold, but made no other moves, simply programmed to continue reigning abuse on Spike’s face.

“Spike,” Alanna said softly. The blue eyes she knew so well continued to stare up at the ceiling, far away.

“Spike.” Her voice was commanding, a Slayer issuing a challenge that couldn’t be ignored. Alanna’s entire demeanor changed. Gone was the young girl with woeful eyes and a penchant for mischief. In her place stood a Slayer; she was steel, a tried and tested warrior who would not be ignored. Her eyes flashed, and her voice commanded obedience and attention. Spike responded; dull, lifeless eyes flickered and fixed on her.

“I. Love. You.” Alanna saw surprise written in those eyes. Good. “I love you. As does Leto. You’ve become very important to us, William. We care about you, and we take care of our own. There is nothing, NOTHING we would not do for you. I will stand by your side until the end of time, fighting for you, with you. I will never give up on you, not even when you’ve given up on yourself.” A slight wince crossed Spike’s face, and his gaze wavered. “You're an amazing vampire, Spike, an amazing man. You fought to save the word, gave up everything for it, even though it’s never given up anything for you. But that was the easy part, fighting for the people YOU cared about. But now…now it’s time to fight for yourself.” Alanna bent over, getting closer to the vampire that had moved so effortlessly into her heart.

“You’re not a doormat, Spike. You’re far too strong for that. And while I’ll do anything for you…there some things I can’t. I can’t fight your battles for you, I can only fight them with you. It’s time for you to realize that you’re worth fighting for, Spike. So fight! Defend yourself! Because you’re worth it. You just have to believe.” And with that, she released the figure’s punch…

…into Spike’s waiting hand. He flipped the faceless person over and stood. When she came back at him, mindlessly swinging at his head, he blocked her punches, and sent one straight to her nose. The figure went flying backwards, lying still on the pavement.

Spike collapsed, gut-wrenching sobs shaking his lithe frame as years of degradation and humiliation spilled out of him, given up at last.


	12. Chapter 12

Leto woke up in the rehab room and scrambled to his feet. A wave of gratitude rushed over him when he realized that Sirra was the only one there. She’d somehow convinced everyone to leave; that was good, because they didn’t need anyone else seeing this. He caught motion out of the corner of his eye as Alanna stirred. He nodded to Sirra, who slipped quietly out of the room when she realized they’d all awoken. When Spike came to, he screamed, a sound filled with rage and repression and pain. It was a raw, animal sound.

Seething rage sliced through Leto, his demon surging forward and demanding that he hunt down the vampire who called himself Spike’s Sire, yet treated him so viciously. He turned and regarded his mate and Spike. Alanna gathered Spike to her, her hands running soothingly through his hair, soft words of encouragement murmured reassuringly. Spike did not appear to be fully cognizant, his mind still hiding from the real world. Leto moved towards him, but Alanna’s mental voice froze him.

_No_. He felt the strength of her command through the mating bond, and the certitude that her mate would NOT disobey her in this matter. Leto’s anger flared anew, hot and violent, but with an underlying coldness that promised this was not a fleeting matter; he would carry his hatred of Spike’s so-called Sire for the rest of his life. Leto’s eyes narrowed and he growled his displeasure at her, a deep, dangerous sound. He took a deliberate step towards his mate and the broken vampire before him.

_You will NOT take another step, Leto Aurelius!_ Her eyes blazed at him, and her tone brooked no argument. His demon wanted to break free and punish her, make her weep for daring to challenge him, to keep him away from comforting what was his.

_YOU will not keep me away!_ he growled, his mental fury slamming into her. She gasped at the force of his anger, but she didn’t give an inch. They were equals, and she wasn’t backing down.

_I will if you don’t get control of yourself! Your anger has no place here. You may be pissed at Angelus—I want to track him down right now myself—but Spike’s not going to see the difference. All he’s going to feel is anger, and I’d imagine his trust is a pretty fragile thing right now._ His demon howled at her, but Leto forcefully pushed it back. She was right; he could deal with Angelus later, and he had been given enough of Spike already. Right now, Leto needed to put Spike first. He closed his eyes and went through a series of meditation techniques, calming himself, pushing the anger back. His mate sent him soothing thoughts, their battle of wills already a distant memory, one in a long line of similar occurrences on both sides.

Leto waited until he felt Alanna’s unspoken permission. Carefully, he approached the distraught vampire. He pressed himself against Spike, letting his now-docile demon forward. He reached out, demon-to-demon, trying to calm the turmoil he could feel rolling off the younger man. A deep, soothing purr rumbled through his chest, spreading through Spike. The response was almost instantaneous, as his shoulders relaxed and his breathing began to even. He slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Gently, Alanna rolled Spike into Leto’s arms, arranging the young vampire into a comfortable position. Leto rose fluidly, supporting Spike as if he weighed nothing. Alanna preceded them, her eyes flinty and challenging. Anyone who encountered them in the hallways suddenly found other places to be, their eyes skittering over the three figures as they rushed to get away.

Leto’s attention was focused unwaveringly on the figure cradled in his arms. He simply followed Alanna without paying attention to their surroundings. Spike shifted, whimpering slightly, and Leto's demon responded instinctively, a soft purr echoing in his chest. Leto frowned slightly; his demon was acting extremely possessive, almost as if Spike were…his childe. Which was preposterous. He had never felt inclined to make or take a childe. Such an act was a huge responsibility, akin to becoming a parent; he’d be responsible for their actions, required to teach them the lore, guide them…

_Basically do all the things you’ve already been doing…_ Alanna’s voice cut in, carrying an undercurrent of amusement and satisfaction. He rolled his eyes; other people had voices in their heads, he got a Slayer. Leto almost tripped. For the first time, he took his gaze off the sleeping form in his arms.

_I’m not. I’m just doing what you…_ Her laughter rang clearly in his mind, and a brief smile cut through the scowl on her face.

_YOU KNEW! You…you PLANNED this!_ It came out far sulkier and accusatory than he intended.

_And you thought I asked you to spend time together because I had_ Yoga classes. _We’ve been mated how long again?_ He glowered at her back, the smugness coming through the bond adding to his ire.

_You could have just asked!_ He didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

_Oh, yes, that would have been brilliant. ‘Hey, Leto, you know how you’ve refused to entertain the idea of a childe for, oh, like over a thousand years? Well, I’d like you to become Spike’s surrogate Sire!’ It’s the alliteration that would have convinced you, right?_

He really hated how easily she manipulated him sometimes. He never fell for this shit.

_Never is a strong word,_ she said with a mental grin. He growled at her in irritation, cringing when Spike pulled away at the sound. It sobered them both, and they made the rest of the trip in silence.

***

Spike bolted upright, his head swimming. He realized he was gasping and consciously stopped breathing, pushing down the physical manifestations of his panic. He looked around the unfamiliar room, fighting down the numbing fear when he realized he had no idea where he was. He closed his eyes, fighting back the swell of emotions that overwhelmed him.

“Spike?” He knew that voice. A face, a woman with brilliant gold-red hair. No, there was something wrong with the picture. The face blurred, then divided. There were two people, two women. Alanna. That name fit the one with a riot of curls, her hair framing her face like a lion’s mane. But the other…he felt a sense of deja vu, like he should know her.

“Spike?” The image and the pseudo-memory shattered. He opened his eyes, and saw Alanna. Images and memories, snippets of his life tore through his head, rushed through him, a colorful blur of pain and degradation. He squeezed his eyes when he realized Alanna and Leto had been there, had seen…God. He’d been week. He’d been weak and helpless, and they seen the whole bloody show. He almost welcomed the intense disgust.

“Hey, now, none of that! We went through a lot to get you back.” She smiled gently, the tortured blue eyes tearing at her heart. “What’s say we hold off on round two?” Spike managed a choked, forced laugh that almost threw him back into a sob. His emotions felt so raw, so unbearably vulnerable.

“How are you?” Leto’s voice asked from behind him. Spike shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. For some reason, Leto’s slight touch, his hand on Spike’s back, brought soothing relief.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Alanna murmured. Spike glanced at her and through the torrent of his own emotions, realized she was different. Spike glommed on to the distraction studying this new side of the fiery slayer presented; anything to keep his mind off of…

He looked at her, the impatient buzz that usually surrounded her completely gone. She was calm, a warrior who could face down a rush of uber-vamps. A shudder raced through him, but he ignored it. This composed, earnest woman was why all of the people he’d met at Haven deferred to her, why he saw respect and admiration on every face they passed. This was the fighter, in the aftermath of battle…a battle that had taken place for him. The thought alone was enough to humble him, and he turned his attention to Leto.

Leto’s green eyes locked with his own, and he couldn’t look away. His gaze was probing, questioning but not demanding. They searched him, as if Leto was afraid Spike would decide to take another field trip through the more debasing parts of his past. He was…concerned and poised for action. He remembered Leto’s sacrifice, his whispered words, and Alanna’s challenge, her demand. The depth of their emotions, still visible and directed at him in the intimate setting of their own bedroom, the scents of their every-day life heavy on the air, was intense and powerful. In that moment, Spike realized that he had affected them just as much as they had irrevocably changed him…and the thought was energizing. They cared. He smiled his acknowledgment and thanks.

“We have a proposition for you,” Leto ventured. Spike regarded them with interest, and Leto felt a tendril of pleased satisfaction drift through him. The changes in Spike were subtle, but they were there. There was trust in the younger vampire’s gaze, instead of the wariness that everyone else was subjected to, as if he was just waiting for them to play a round or two of Kick the Spike.

“We want to be a part of you therapy,” Alanna said, settling herself on the edge of the bed.

“’twould be rude, leavin’ Lips out of a job,” he answered, his voice rough and strained. But he met Alanna’s delighted chuckle with a small one of his own, relaxing in his complete trust of the people in front of him. He’d never felt this relaxed and safe with anyone.

“Oh no. There will be no usurping Sirra. She’d totally massage me to death.”

“We want to be there. For you. I’m going to keep teaching you, things that…” Leto trailed off, his anger spiking at the mere thought of Angelus. But he shook it off; there would be time for that later. “Things that you should have been taught. If you’re willing.” Leto’s jade eyes boring into Spike’s. Spike cocked his head to one side and leveled an assessing gaze at his elder. He sensed something underneath the surface, something unsaid, but what it was eluded Spike. He was surprised when Leto broke eye contact first, his eye flicking away from the younger vampire’s searching blue gaze.

Alanna threaded her fingers through her mate's, offering support and reassurance through the bond. He turned and inhaled her scent, finding strength in her familiarity. Of course she supported this; she’d engineered it from the start.

“I’m not really sure how you did it,” Leto said gruffly. He felt Alanna’s mental nudge and shooed her off. He hadn’t been raised where speaking of his feelings was safe or expected, and the words never came easy to him. Taking a deep, calming breath, Leto looked at the young vampire who had somehow wormed his way so deep within him that his pain resonated within Leto’s own breast. His demon purred its approval. “But I love you…Childe.”

Spike felt the world tilt dangerously, but he could only concentrate on the one word: childe. Leto’s lectures swam through his head, silly didactic treatises about the childer, sires…and adoption. Leto had just effectively declared himself Spike’s sire.


	13. Chapter 13

A million thoughts flew through Spike’s head, but he couldn’t pin one down. He was frozen and immobile, physically and mentally. All of his thoughts and emotions seemed to be piling on top of one another, and he was compacting beneath the pressure.

“Spike...come on, don't do this beautiful.” He felt a hand skim through his hair and grabbed onto it like the lifeline it was. Another rubbed gently along his back. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to center himself.

“You doing alright, Spike?” Spike shook his head at the question, owning up to what a shitty, shitty day it had been partly because he was way too exhausted to lie, mostly because he didn't have the emotional capital to pull off a convincing lie. “Yeah, didn't think so. How about we get you to bed?” Spike simply shrugged and allowed them to gently roll him under the covers; a part of his brain pointed out that this wasn't his bed, but it faded away with the rest of the world.

Alanna sat on the bed, running her fingers through Spike's hair. They'd need to ask about bleaching it sometime soon.

“He's out,” Leto noted unnecessarily.

“Not surprising. He went through hell today.” She sighed and smoothed Spike's hair one more time. “Came out the other side, too.”

“Is that a hint of pride I hear?” Leto wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder and looking down at his new childe. A warm feeling spread through him at the thought. He had a childe. Well, not quite officially yet—Spike needed to acknowledge him and then seal the bond and just agree to the whole thing—but...a _childe._

“He's amazing,” she murmured reverently.

“Yeah. He doesn't know it.”

“He will.”

***

Spike felt awareness chasing away sleep. He halfheartedly chased after it. He woke with a sigh, arching back to stretch his muscles when he encountered resistance. He tried to roll over but was stopped by a pretty solid chest. His gaze travelled upwards until they met with Leto's amused green eyes.

“Mornin' sweetheart.” Spike was momentarily dumbfounded, and Leto started laughing at him.

“Sod off. 'snot my fault I'm irresistible'.” Leto snorted and the next thing Spike knew, he had a mouthful of pillow.

“Respect your elders.” Spike raised one disbelieving eyebrow at that. The vampire that had just thwacked him with a pillow was telling Spike to respect...anyone?

“That's your sage advice? Respect m'elders?” Leto scowled at Spike. Impertinent twit.

“I'm new at this. But you want some advice? Don't insult the guy with the pillow.” Spike yelped and protected his head with his hands as Leto rained down a flurry of hits. He reached back, trying to grab his own pillow, and Leto was taken by surprise when he get a pillow to the face. It was on. There was an early casualty when Spike tried to steal Leto's pillow and it ripped in half, sending feathers every which way. They knocked heads diving for the one remaining pillow, and Spike was nearly thrown off the (rather large) bed when his bid failed. Leto managed to get his legs under him—a totally unfair advantage in Spike's opinion—and was poised for the killing blow when they were interrupted by a bright flash of light.

“Oh please, don't stop your PILLOW FIGHT on my account,” Alanna said with a grin. She brought up the last picture on her digital camera and grinned evilly. Oh, yes, this would be the PERFECT addition to Haven's next newsletter. She could see the headline now, 'Former Master Vampires have Sleepover, Complete with Pillow Fight in their Neglige'. Gold.

“Alanna,” Leto growled warningly. His mate merely rolled her eyes at him and deliberately protection-encrypted the photo.

“Yes? Did the pillow-whumping Master Vampire of Haven wish to speak with me?” Leto growled again. “Oooohhh, scary. Gonna hit me? With a...pillow? Or maybe threaten to paint my nails a dastardly color of pink?” Leto launched himself at Alanna, but she twirled away and laughed as he hit the wall and slid down. She picked up his forgotten pillow and thwacked him in the head. Leto spun around, game face on, to find Alanna perched next to Spike on the bed, pillow held at ready. She leaned down with an impish smile.

“He's ticklish,” she whispered sotto voice.

“ALANNA!” Spike watched with thinly veiled curiosity at their interactions; he couldn't sense any fear or reservation from the slayer now that Leto was in game face, nor did he feel the rumblings of aggression and dominance from Leto. It was unlike any interaction he'd ever seen as (or from) a vampire. Angelus, Darla, and Dru had been all about the blood, sex, and serious power plays. This...playfulness had never existed.

“Yes, oh pillow-licious love of my life?” Leto's golden eyes narrowed and he growled low and rumbling in his chest. Spike would have blushed if he could when the scent of female arousal permeated the air; amazingly, Leto just smirked and growled again. Spike glanced away when he saw the fine tremor run through Alanna. “You bastard.” It was high a breathy, and Spike could see her pupils dilate. Leto chuckled and leaned bonelessly against the door...and growled again.

“Leto.” This time there was a warning note in Alanna's voice.

“Yes, oh slayer of my heart?” He punctuated his question with a low, rumbling purr.

“Stop. You're embarrassing Spike.” Spike was pretty sure he'd actually achieved a blush at that point. He glanced a Leto and was relieved to find that the older vamp (...his...sire?...maybe?) just looked amused.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, ducking his head.

“Oh please.” Alanna flopped down on the bed beside him, hair tumbling off the end, looking at Leto up-side-down. “I live with demons who all have an overachieving sense of smell. They know what I'm up to before I do. I'm so over the embarrassment, so stop blushing before your head explodes.”

“I'm blushing?”

“Well. No. But you would be if you could.” Alanna sent Leto a mental slap (and was wholly satisfied to see him actually jump), urging him to get on with it. He glared at her, but she just smiled an inscrutable and impervious slayer smile back at him.

“So Spike. How are you feeling today, assault by pillow aside?” she asked with far too much fake cheer. He glanced nervously at Leto, trying to gauge the older vamp's mood. Leto just slouched against the doorjamb nonchalantly, looking relaxed but alert.

“I'm...” He was really tempted to say fine, but one glance at Alanna told him he wasn't going to get away with that answer. “...not sure.”

“okay.” Spike blinked.

“What?” He'd been expecting...something. A protestation, an eye roll, a dissection of his past actions and maybe a description of how he should be feeling...pressure for an answer to Leto's offer. 'okay' hadn't been anywhere on his list.

“You're unsure. That's understandable.” Leto sighed mentally at the completely lost look on Spike's face. Someone had really done a number on the poor boy's psyche, and he had a really good idea who. Since when was confusion not an acceptable response to a life changing decision?

“You're not...I don't...” Spike was suddenly very, very tired.

“Look, the offer doesn't come with an expiration. It's not a 24-hour fire sale or a limited-time-only thing. It's one of the biggest decisions of your existence. I'd have been more worried if you'd jumped to an answer, especially considering last night.” Spike winced at the reminder, and Leto was by his side in an instance, hand on his shoulder. “You're allowed to be confused, and mad, and angry, and what the fuck ever. That's your prerogative. I'm not going to leave or get angry because you have to work a few things out. So take all the time you need, ask all the questions you want. Alanna and I will try to help you as much as we can.”

Spike ducked his head and started picking at invisible strands on the mattress. This was something new, unfamiliar territory. Alanna touched his arm.

“You're not alone anymore. Let us help you.” Her smile was soft, and Spike let himself hope. Just a little bit.

***

Angel paced the top floor of Wolfram & Hart, overlooking his city. He snarled, lip curling up, eyes flashing gold.

His agent's reports on Buffy weren't turning up anything. Spike wasn't lurking in the shadows. And Buffy...well, she was playing the part of the good little slayer. But Spike still continued to elude him. Time to go beyond the normal means

Angel strode purposefully through the quiet halls of the building. He walked through countless wards and secret rooms to get to the ornate doors which guarded access to the Senior Partners.

"I'd like an audience," Angel requested. He waited impatiently for his answer. Silently, with no fan fair, the doors swung open.

The space was gray and colorless, empty save for a white stool with an old black telephone on it. Angel picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear.

"I want my Childe," Angel said. "Can you bring him to me?"

Silence. Angel waited. The Senior Partners would not be rushed, by him or any other.

**Yes.** The voice, if you could call it that, made even his demon quail. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. **For a price.**


	14. Chapter 14

Some small part of Spike expected to feel drastically different, for there to be some indication that his life had undergone an unbelievable change. But there was nothing. Life continued, much as it had before. He lived for rehab; Sirra would come around noon, work him, test him, invent new forms of torture for him, and help him get in and out of the special (NOT handicapped!) shower. Leto would come by later, generally with Alanna in tow, and they’d watch the sunset and stroll around Haven. He had good days and bad days and some really bad days. And Alanna and Leto were with him every step of the way.

Spike threw a party when he was able to get in and out of the chair by himself, which also meant that he could shower himself and even roll around Haven unattended. He convinced Alanna to bring him a handle of Jack and drank himself silly, going so far as to challenge Leto to a drinking game. An amused slayer watched over them, helping all the good little vampires into their beds when they were too sloshed to sit upright. Spike reveled in his increased mobility, even going so far as to wheel around the city by himself, but there was still something at the back of his head, something dark that pressed against him.

***

“Slayer.”

“Satan.” Sirra scowled at her friend. “That is what Spike's taken to calling you lately, right?”

“You do not have to encourage him, Alanna.”

The slayer laughed and savored her chocolate cake. “So what's the word on Mr. The Bloody?”

“Complicated.”

Alanna snorted. “Tell me something I don't know.”

“He's...” Sirra sighed and tried to put the mess that was Spike's emotional state at any given time into some kind of linear, quantifiable description. “He's jumbled. There's still a lot of anger and resentment simmering below the surface, though it's not as backed up as it was. He tends to let it some of it out now when it gets too bad, blowing of steam as it were. But...the spell's going to give. It has to, because it's blocking out too much.” Sirra had known Alanna for a long time; anyone else would be fooled by the nonchalant shrug, but Sirra could trace the lines of tension flowing through her.

“You think Leto's relationship with Spike is strong enough?” Alanna asked. Sirra felt heartbreakingly sad for her friend. Because Alanna was really asking “Do you think Leto's relationship with Spike is strong enough to support the younger vamp through everything when he decides he never wants to see me again because I did something unforgivable by casting a spell over him that took away a good chunk of his memories.”

“I think it will have to be,” Sirra said, wishing she could do more.

***

Alanna and Sirra were both watching him closely. Spike knew this. He could feel it in his bones. And it made him irrationally angry. Their constant watching, feeling their eyes on his every move, made the feelings of restlessness that had been steadily growing within him worse. He started lashing out and having more bad days than good.

He was distracted during Sirra’s sessions, and he was standoffish with everyone, even Leto and Alanna. As a result, he became increasingly frustrated with his inability to understand WHY, and would get take his anger out at the smallest provocation. No one was spared his wrath, not even the serving people in the cafeteria. Sirra’s insistence that he was moving along marvelously just made him angrier. He still couldn’t walk, could he? He tried the other day and all he got was a huge bruise across his cheek and a mortally wounded ego. He couldn’t even really write out his frustrations because his chicken scratch was barely legible, his hands still unaccustomed to using his finer motor skills. What, exactly, had he been doing the past four months of rehab? Rolling around the town when he should have been working at getting better, stronger. Spike ignored the voice that tried to remind him even three months ago he could barely hold a mug of blood.

A cloud seemed to settle over Spike, and nothing seemed to pierce it. He was aware of the glances Alanna and Sirra shared, of the worry and concern he could see reflected in their eyes. And it fed his anger. He didn’t want their concern, or their pity. He wanted to walk, damn it; he was tired of being helpless!

The anger built, a helpless impotent creature that had no where to go.

***

 

Sirra’s temper was severely frayed by the time she got to the massage portion of the session. Spike had been moody and snappish for weeks now, and she’d just about had it. She could do nothing right, and he was being absolutely unbearable.

“You’re not doing it hard enough,” Spike said, “try harder.” Sirra gritted her teeth and wrenched the muscle under her hands; harder he wanted, harder he would fucking get. “OW you stupid bint! Sod off if you’re gonna be like that!”

“LIKE THAT?” Sirra snapped. “Like what, SPIKE? I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you had better shape up, because I’m not going to take your abuse. You know, I’m putting my time into helping you, you could at least be a little grateful.”

“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

“That's it. I'm done for the day. I really don't care if you ever walk again.” Sirra slammed the door closed on her way out.

“Sirra?” She growled at Alanna and continued stomping down the hall. The combination of her own frustrations and the emotions she'd been picking up from Spike had frayed her temper to the breaking point. She was usually so much more level-headed than this. Soothing thoughts began to snake through her, and she growled at the slayer beside her. “Stop it.” Sirra wasn't in the mood to be 'talked down' as it were. The soothing feelings retracted.

“Okay. What happened?”

“Spike,” she ground out tersely.

“Spike. Of course.”

***

 

“Spike?”

“What?” Spike snapped, then winced. Alanna's tentative question should not have solicited this response.

“Ah, I was wondering if you wanted to go for a walk?” Spike growled and rolled on his side, away from Alanna.

“Can't walk,” he said, as if talking to a child. _Or Harris_ floated through his mind, another one of those increasingly annoying thoughts that had no context, no grounding in reality. Alanna's soft sigh grated on him.

“Right. Can't walk, can't socialize, can't be nice--”

“FUCK YOU,” Spike snarled, twisting into a sitting position, eyes blazing yellow. Alanna crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at the pissed off vampire. “You, who waltz around here with a grin and everybody just fucking loves! You're not the one in the wheelchair! You're not the one who signs up to get tortured every day for hours to...what? Get excited about being able to _stand up by myself?_ Right, excuse me if I'm not Mrs. Mary bloody Sunshine you sanctimonious bitch!”

“You done yet?”

“No, I think I'll lay here and wallow in my misery a little longer,” Spike snapped, anger surging hot. He could feel something straining in his head, pushed to the breaking point, that annoying little place that rubbed him the wrong way.

“That organ killed some brain cells,” Alanna muttered, too low for a human ear to here. Spike went still. Organ? He felt something leak through, a wisp of a memory.

“How do you know that? You...you can’t know that...” Spike’s mind was racing a mile a minutes, and he came across a sudden blankness. He was sitting in a strange bed, a green comforter spread across his legs. He sniffed the room, and smelt the linger scent of himself, indicating he'd lived here for a while. There was a woman in the room, red hair, spicy scent who'd apparently spent almost as much time in this room as he had. Scents were layered over his own, but he had no idea what was going on. “Do I...know you?” A look of alarm flashed across the woman's pretty face.

“Spike? Are you alright?” Spike. That's right, his name was Spike.

He wracked his brain, frustrated at the emptiness that had been there. “I...I don't know? I'm not...where am I?”

“Spike, what do you remember?” she asked, fear entering her carefully controlled words.

He remembered...dreams, faceless people who haunted him, who he couldn’t quite remember. People bloodied and screaming, but also laughing and...home. They were there, his memories, pushing at the surface, and he clawed at them desperately. “There...a girl. Blonde...and brown...I-I-I failed, and I...loved...” Spike trailed off, fighting a battle in his mind, trying to fill in the gaps, trying to catch at the ephemeral ghosts of himself. He started shaking, clawing at his head as he grasped at the memories, but his head felt oily and disconnected. He screamed, but he didn't notice, trying desperately to crawl inside of himself, to rescue his essence that he could feel drowning in the void of his mind.

“Oh shit!” Alanna scrambled in her pocket, searching for the delicate crystal she always kept on her person. Her fingers clasped around it, and she pulled it out. It was turning black, fine cracks appearing in it's surface. She raised it and threw it to the ground, breaking it into a million little pieces.

“Buffy!” Spike arched off the bed, his body rigid with unreleased tension. Alanna held him down as he seized, numb with fear; he was fighting against himself too strongly, this shouldn't be happening. But she knew, better than most, how unpredictable magic really was. She pressed against him, trying to keep him safe and unharmed.

His memories returned in a rush: that night at the Bronze, his appreciation of the youthful form moving with burgeoning sexuality on the dance floor, his instant lust and appreciation, the slow clap and threats; their first fight, all fists and fangs, and Joyce...he took in a sharp breath as his thoughts skipped forward, the pain of her death hit him again, wrenching a small screaming sob from his lips. Joyce was gone, dead, one of the few people in this world who had readily liked him. The Scoobies flew through his mind, scents and impressions colliding together in a torrent of emotional scent-memory; Glenda-Tara who’d always been nice to him and hadn't deserved to die that way, the Xander-Whelp who needed a hard dose of reality and a greater understanding of what a bigot truly was, Red the out-of-control witch whose crimes were somehow worse because she meant so well, and Rupes who had become a brother in a sea of misinformed Yanks and whose Watcherly exterior hid a dangerous, hardened man.

But Buffy overshadowed everyone of them, those memories such a confusing mix of love, hatred, and loathing: his slow and detrimental battle with denial; Dru leaving him for a Chaos demon, the Buffybot, Glory...DAWN. His love and devotion to the young girl slammed into him, and fresh tears springing from his eyes. The girl who was not a girl. She would miss him, she was like her mum, looking up to him and accepting him without making him jump through hoops. Did she even know he was alive? A horrible thought raced through his head as he searched frantically through memories of that final battle with the First. “Buffy! Buffy! Did she...no! God, I—f-f-failed again, I—” Someone ripped his hands from his head, held him down as he tried to drive the emotional pain away with the physical. Words broke through his haze.

“She fine, Spike! She made it! She’s okay.” Alanna was rubbing soothing circles on his back, trying to calm the freaked out vampire down. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks and he looked...dead. Spike suddenly raised his blazing blue eyes to her, the scathing look causing her to involuntarily snatch her hand away and scrambled back on the bed.

“You knew.” His voice was raw and angry. His attitude had shifted; gone was the frantic, overwhelmed man. Here was a highly pissed off, betrayed Master Vampire. “You did this.” Alanna didn’t insult him by making excuses or trying to explain; she gravely acknowledged his claim, waiting for him to continue. “A spell. A bloody spell. You--“ Spike broke off, shaking his head. He’d trusted her. Trusted her implicitly. And she’d stolen his memories, taken away his love, his family, part of what made him him; she’d violated him in ways not even Buffy at her worst had managed. He couldn’t help the strangled why that escaped from numb lips.

“Spike,” the emotion he heard in his name jerked him up, eyes blazing in defiance that she could dare pretend to care for him after what she’d just done. “I...I can't...Jesus, I knew that if you woke up and remembered her, knew Buffy was alive, you’d want to go to her, regardless of what we said. And I couldn’t let that happen.” Spike stared at her, unable to comprehend what was going on. Was this the same woman who encouraged him to work at therapy, to work at achieving the independence he so desperately craved, who had seen him at his worst and still said she believed in him... only to take his freedom of choice because he might act in a way she didn’t approve of?

“You bloody FUCKING hypocrite,” he growled, viciously gratified at the way she flinched from him.

“Please, Spike, you don’t understand--“

“Then bloody well explain it to me, _Alanna_ ,” he ground out.

“You...you have to be here Spike. If you had left...God, you don't even know. Bad things would have happened. And I couldn’t stand by and watch it. I know you, Spike; I care about you. And I didn’t think you deserved to have life shit on you again! I wanted to protect you--“

“By taking away my memories? By casting spells on me so I wouldn’t question you? Taking away my free will? Bad things happen. Shit happens. You’re like a dictator on a power trip, messing with my life!”

“No, it wasn’t...it's not like that, not meant to be like that, I--“

“How did you know about me? And how much do you know about me?” Spike interrupted. He couldn’t take the lies and the pain of her trying to rationalize her actions; he was still coping with the fact that their entire relationship had been built on a betrayal. The abrupt shift in topic caught Alanna by surprise, and she stared stupidly at him for a moment. “How do you know all the details about my life,” he repeated slowly. He watched with detached interest as she collected her thoughts, numb. His emotions had taken a hike for the day. He knew Alanna well enough to recognize that she was preparing for a fight. Another round of half-truths, he thought dryly.

“The Seek...since it was formed, the Seek has watched the Slayer. When there was only one. We watched her, and the ones around her, both enemies and friends. You fell into both of those categories with Buffy.” Spike felt a new, cold anger building inside of him.

“You watched. From the day she was Called.” His voice was flat and emotionless, a tone which alarmed Alanna more than the fiery accusations; hot anger was intense, but it burned out soon enough. Cold anger...that was more deliberate, an anger felt in the depths of the soul and, if not released, froze into hatred. But Alanna had sworn that when this day came, she would tell Spike whatever truth he wanted to hear, without reservation.

“Yes. From the second the Slayer before her passed.” She finally saw emotion on his closed face and hardened eyes. A cloud descended over him, transforming his features into the cold facade of a man who knew killing and did it well...and had his sights trained on her.

“So for almost eight years, you watched Buffy fight; you’ve watched her die, watched her suffer, watched her get yanked out of heaven...and done _nothing._ ” The viciousness behind the word caused Alanna to step back; Spike’s generally affable and easy-going nature made it easy to forget that he had a very real demon lurking under the surface. “I’ve been in this place, seen only a portion of the resources you have here, and a fraction of it would have saved Buffy countless hardships and suffering! And you stood by, in your pretty little utopia and comfortable beds while SHE saved the world time and again, against insurmountable odds! I never thought I would say this, but you’re worse than the bloody Council! At least they occasionally did something useful; you just sat silently by and enjoyed the fucking show.” He was breathing hard, his anger consuming him. Alanna thought briefly that she should have known, should have predicted that Spike would get much angrier over the plight of others than his own betrayal.

“Spike, we couldn’t interfere--“

“Fuck that bullshit! I’ve seen you interfere, I’ve heard about your missions, you yourself have shown me what you do! I’m getting tired of the lies.” His body was trembling with impotent rage; he wanted to beat something up--preferably the bitch in front of him--but his legs wouldn’t hold him. Anger at his own weakness merged and amplified the helpless, directionless rage building within him. That wasn't true. He had a very convenient target right in front of him.

“I can’t directly interfere with the Slayer--“

“Why not? Is there some reason they have to go out a risk their lives every night with the knowledge that they probably won’t survive until they’re twenty? When there’s a very powerful organization that could--“

“Because the Slayer can’t know I exist!” she snapped. She could deal with Spike's anger at her actions; there was a reason she'd taken the onus of the choice on her shoulders alone. But he had no place to cast judgment on things he had no understanding or conception of.

Silence, thick and tense, descended between them, Alanna fighting back her own anger (and yes, fear that Spike would end their association), Spike trying to asses the woman in front of him who was rapidly proving that he didn’t know her at all.

“Really, your ego,” Spike sneered, “is un-fucking-believable.” This girl really had a superiority complex. “How special do you think you are, one little slayerette--“

“I’m not a slayerette, Spike.” The sheer weariness in her words cut through Spike’s haze of anger. She looked defeated and downtrodden, so very tired. “I am...was a Slayer. As in the Chosen _One_.”

“Please, I can sense your power, can feel your age. You feel like you were born yesterd—“ Spike broke off as her power signature suddenly increased, her presence unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It swallowed his senses, her power permeating the little room, blinding him to anything else. It was pulsing and alive and...it was like everything he felt with Buffy magnified ten fold, and it was quickly consuming him. He was doubled over, the force of it a physical sensation. And just as soon as it had appeared, it was gone. A small, slightly sad smile played over her lips.

“I'm immortal.”


	15. Chapter 15

“The Immortal Slayer,” Spike breathed. “I always thought she...you...were a myth.”

“Myths are based in fact. You of all people should know that.” She winced as the surprise disappeared and anger once again overtook Spike's face, twisting his visage into something foreign and unfamiliar.

“The immortal slayer.” The words were filled with condescension. “I'd have thought you, of all people, would have done everything in your power to help her!”

Alanna tried to tamp down her own anger at his accusations. She was the responsible one here, it was up to her to keep this from descending into something unsalvageable. She took a deep breath, trying to find her center.

“You think I didn’t? There are circumstances here you don't understand, restrictions and—”

“I'm not interested in your excuses.”

“Excuses? Yes, I'm making excuses. Did none of you ever stop and wonder how you always seemed to have the right book, or the right spell, or the rarest of ingredients in every situation? Did you ever wonder just how the most exotic of objects were available to you just in the nick of time? And don’t say Giles’s connections, because even 'connections' have a hard time finding things that NO LONGER EXIST!” So maybe she hadn't been totally successful in controlling her anger.

Spike abruptly understood for the first time that he was looking at a slayer, and his demon rumbled uncomfortably in the background. Even so, his emotions flared hot in his chest.

“She deserved your help, to know what you know--“

“Have you been listening you stubborn, self-righteous vampire? _I couldn’t._ Thing aren't as simple as you'd like them to be. I made a promise long ago with the Powers not to directly interfere with or contact any Slayer.”

“Why the fuck would you do such a stupidly moronic thing--“

**“Stop.”** Spike had no choice but to comply; gone was the angry woman trying to explain her questionable actions to a friend. He was dealing with The Slayer, a commanding being whose power rolled over him in waves; her one word stopped Spike as surely as if his Sire had commanded him. Spike shrank back, his demon trying to make itself as small a target as possible. “I’m going to tell you something very personal and very private; it goes no further than this room, and I will not tolerate you using it against me in the future for any reason. I’m going to tell you this because”--for a moment the apologetic friend was back--“I trust you, Spike. And you deserve an explanation.” She looked at him, waiting for his agreement. Spike nodded

tersely and folded his arms against his chest, trying to regain the ground he could see disappearing before his eyes.

“Once upon a long time ago, I did exactly what you accused me of denying Buffy. Once I understood my abilities, gained some experience and perspective, really understood what it truly means to be a Slayer, I sought out the _delecta_ , the Chosen. She was young, couldn't have been months into her Calling. She was bruised and battered. Fifteen. I befriended her, explained everything I knew about being a Slayer. I taught her about the different demons, the most effective way to kill them, how to harm them. I patrolled with her, fought beside her, guarded her back. I loved her. She was...she was my sister, a part of me. She called to me like the Masters of your line call to you, as family. But that...closeness, those feelings, my love and my idealism...I couldn't see what was right before my eyes. and..fuck. It caused so much pain and suffering.

“See, there’s a reason there’s only one Slayer at a time. Part of the slayer package is survival. You learn how to use your gifts, night by night, fight by fight. If you don’t, you die. It’s a harsh, brutal way to live, but you persevere until...well, for the good ones until you don't want to fight anymore. One Slayer learns what it means to have power, to grow into it, to use her abilities responsibly. One Slayer takes on the ills of an entire world. No getting around it, no shortcuts. But when there are two, the rules change. You don’t have to work as hard, you don’t have to learn as fast. The stakes aren't life-or-death and everything is overshadowed by the one who came before, who's already made the mistakes and learned from them...”

“You get Faith,” Spike couldn't help but interject.

“You get Faith, who was tempered by a well structured, civilized society with very clear definitions of right and wrong. If you lived in the days when cities were few and far between, and the law was what you made of it, you get a tyrant and a war lord. I realized my mistake when it had already spiraled out of my control; we never like to acknowledge the flaws of those we love. Before it ended, the people she was meant to protect, the people with whose lives she was entrusted were at the mercy of a demon army with a human leader.” She smiled thinly, cold and without humor. “The most heinous atrocities committed against humanity are always by humanity itself. I couldn't watch that, couldn't be responsible again. And I know myself. I'd be tempted to think just what you do. That it was a one time deal, that the next one would be different. I made a pact with the Powers and a promise to myself. I would never directly interfere with the current Slayer, never even let her know of my existence.”

“Buffy proved herself! Over and over again. She fought, lost so much, she’s died! She must have earned your help--

“Even Buffy succumbed to Faith's temptations,” Alanna pointed out, “if only for a while.” Spike pulled back into himself, trying to reconcile the impossibility of the situation. He'd been betrayed by the people he'd started to trust, people who'd watched him and Buffy, who had the power to change the world and just didn't. He couldn't...he couldn't deal with this right now.

“They warned me against it, told me what would happen. The Powers, I mean.” Alanna volunteered suddenly, the admission obviously painful and filled with regret. “But I was young and so convinced that I was right, that I knew what would happen. I kept thinking how much I would have loved for someone who knew what was going on, who knew how I felt and could share the fight with, how much easier it would be to have that person.”

“You did nothing to help her. She lost *everything.* Her innocence, her mother, her life...TWICE. And you just WATCHED. She already had the bloody Council of Wankers for that! I’ve seen what you have here, what you’re capable of, and YOU LET HER DIE. Get. Out.”

“Spike—”

“GET OUT. Get out get out get out get out!”

Alanna sighed heavily, defeat written in every line of her body. She didn't revisit the past much. The people she'd trust with her pain had been around for that fiasco, and remembering just left a sour taste in her mouth and her emotions, even after all these years, jumbled. And Spike's rejection still hurt. She’d been preparing for this day since she’d cast the first spell, but loss wasn't something one could ever be ready for.

“How’d it end?” Spike asked suddenly. Alanna paused in the doorway and turned slowly towards him. Unfathomable brown eyes searched his own, looking for something. Apparently she found it.

“The only person who can fix your mistakes is you.”

***

Spike sat on the top floor of his complex looking over the Haven skyline watching the sunset in a brilliant burst of colors. He usually felt peaceful up here, but even the beauty of the place couldn’t break through the volatile emotions coursing through him. He’d allowed his anger to consume him because it was easier than examining and facing the betrayal.

They'd violated him. Taken his memories, his life, the things that made him him. Hidden them away because they were inconvenient to their 'master plan.' They'd spoken of help and love and friendship and, fuck, _family._ And he'd bought into all the bullshit.

They had _lied_ to him. About somethings, about everything? Where did the lies stop? Did they ever stop? He replayed all the conversations and all his interactions, a new veil of cynicism and pain overlaying it all. What could he trust? Spike let out a primal scream of anger and hurt and frustration.

God, and then there was Buffy and all the Buffy-shaped issues that came along with her.

They had watched Buffy sacrifice herself time and again, watched her soul being ripped to shreds by the calling she had never wanted. They watched her for years...and...and just watched. Deep within him, he blamed them for everything that had transpired in Sunnyhell: Buffy’s death at Glory’s hands, her ill advised resurrection, that entire period of re-acclamation which had caused both of them so much pain. Visions of small fists flying at his face, those same hands cradling his head as she used his body to find the only freedom left to her, the yes-no back and forth until he'd gotten so muddled he didn't know one from the other...the bathroom. Deep within him, he wondered if he really wanted to remember Buffy and the pain that went with her...if it hadn't been better, easier when she was a ghost haunting his dreams. ( _What would it have been like if the spell had held, never broken?_ )

Buggering FUCK, he'd been _happy_ here.

“Nice view,” Leto said as he came to stand beside Spike. “Reminds me of Sunnydale.”

Spike's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping. “It’s not anything like it an’ you know it. I don’t want to talk.” Leto sighed and sat down beside his childe. He could feel the anger vibrating off of the younger vampire, could sense the depth of his pain. Sometimes being a Sire sucked.

“You haven’t heard the whole story yet,” Leto said softly into the waning day. “The spell was always temporary. It was never meant to be long term, and it wasn't a choice anyone made lightly. I know you feel like we betrayed you. And I know that you think we betrayed Buffy by standing aside. But we're not like the Council, and we weren’t just idly watching the drama unfold.”

Spike’s jaw tightened as he tried to keep his cool. “Really? I didn’t see any of your white hat demons poppin’ up to help us out, or you volunteering any helpful information. You've apparently been watching her for long enough. So explain to me how you’ll justify sitting back and letting good people suffer. Letting Buffy face insurmountable odds when you obviously had the resources to give her one helluva chance at surviving.”

“Spike, it’s not that simple...” Leto began. Spike snarled at him, and Leto growled back, his demon tired of the youngster's impertinence. Spike looked up, surprised, and Leto pinned him with golden eyes. Despite being older, Leto didn't usually pull rank on Spike. “I'm going to explain what's going on. NO.” Spike's jaw snapped closed. “You will sit there, you will listen, and you will think about it when I'm done. Alanna is immortal, and not because she's mated to me. There are repercussions that arise from her situation. We're Seek. Both of us.” Spike's eyes widened in shock, his mess of emotions taking a backseat to the surprise.

Holy. Shit.

Well, at least he'd been by the most powerful group of demons in the world. And really, he should have realized the Immortal Slayer would be a member of the Seek. And the vampire older than Angelus.

“Sirra is too, by the way.” And the evil massage therapist. Spike snorted and looked back over the horizon, desperately wishing he had some Jack. Leto raised a warning eyebrow, but Spike was just restless enough not to care. He gave Leto his most annoying smirk, the one that sent Angelus through the roof on a regular basis. But the older vamp just shot him an indulgent look. “You know our reputation, Spike, and you know what we're capable of. And you're still selling yourself short. We didn't just watch Buffy, we watched you too. You...spoke to us. You still do. You're special, and we—Alanna in particular—felt you got a pretty shitty deal for saving the world. Several times over. So when you sacrificed yourself we...took steps. To make sure you got what you deserved.”

“Bloody great reward. Ta, mate.” Leto growled in frustration, Spike's willful single-mindedness irritating him. He had no IDEA what they'd gone through to get him, to keep him safe, to even suggest they hide his memories to keep him from himself. He had no idea what would have happened if they **hadn't** stepped in.

“You're not _listening._ And I can't very well make you, but...fuck, Spike, you _know_ Alanna. Even if you're pissed at her right now, you've seen the best parts of her, the kind of person she is. She put herself on the line for you. Took on the Powers to make sure you didn't burn up in a brilliant ball of fire for trying to do the right thing, then made an impossible choice knowing full well the consequences of her actions. She did it anyways because she—she loves you.”

“Funny way of showing it.” Spike turned away and stared stoically out over Haven, his face a blank, belying the turmoil inside of him. The silence stretched taut between them before Spike decided he'd had enough. No more heart-to-hearts, no more talking. He was fucking tired, he had a million new memories to deal with and he was done for the day. He left Leto staring out at the darkened city.

***

Leto heaved a huge sigh and slumped to the ground, staring out over the home he'd worked so hard to build. It brought him little solace today. A warm scent drifted to him and a knot of tension unwound.

“Alanna,” he breathed. Warm arms wrapped around him, soft lips pressed kisses into his neck.

“He’s so hurt and angry,” she said softly. “Maybe we should--“

“No Petite,” he whispered. “This is something he must work out on his own. We were warned of this. All you can do is be there for him.”

“He doesn't want me there.”

“He will. He'll figure it out eventually.”

“Did you tell him about the visions?”

“I'm not sure even that would help. He's never seen our Seer in action.”

“There's so much he doesn't know, doesn't understand. If I could just explain...” He pulled her around to sit on his lap and buried his nose in her hair, surrounded himself with her scent.

“He's not ready to know. He's too angry, every thing's too raw. His emotions are spinning out of control.”

“I wish you had the full sire/childe bond,” she murmured into his ear. His unneeded breath caught when she pressed a kiss where his pulse would have been, were he alive.

“It would make things...easier.” She huffed a mildly amused laugh, the sound tainted with the strain of the day. Spike. Easy. Right.


	16. Chapter 16

Spike drew so far into himself that even Sirra could barely get a read on him, and when she did, it was a confusing maelstrom of pain, betrayal, and depression. But Spike wouldn't talk about it, and no number of overtures would get him to open up to them. For a generally verbose creature, Spike was being singularly stubborn.

“He tolerates my presence,” Leto growled, pacing the floor. Alanna sat on the floor with her back to the wall, tracking Leto's increasingly agitated movements. She too had been uncharacteristically subdued for the past days, a combination of remembering past mistakes and Spike's reaction.

“He's angry,” she pointed out. “Rightfully so.”

“I'm his _sire_ ,” Leto roared, sweeping the contents of the table on to the floor.

“In some ways.” He glared at her, and she glared right back. It was a futile argument because she was right; they'd declared their intentions, but hadn't actually forged a childe/sire bond. “Go talk to him, Leto. Or if he won't talk, just sit there! But would you do _something_ other than pace around our room, because it's driving me crazy!”

He stared at her flatly before muttering a terse, “Fine,” and leaving to do just that.

\---

Spike was increasingly grateful for his self-mobility. He didn't have to rely on anyone to shower, dress, or eat. He could take care of himself and avoid anyone he didn't want to see. Which, currently, was everyone in the world.

He closed his eyes and sifted through his memories, newly restored to him. His life was nothing more than a series of betrayals: Cecily. Dru. Angelus. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy again. The fuckin' _Powers._ Alanna.

He almost wished he hadn't gotten his soddin' memories back. Could do without them. The derision, the abuse, the uselessness.

_I love you._

_No you don't, but thanks for asking._

Spike chucked his half-full cup of blood against the wall, watching it splatter on the white paint. It dripped down, rivulets of deep red. He remembered a nightmare, ages ago, slayer's blood covering him, drowning him.

He started laughing.

Christ, what a life. A group of people invested in getting him better whatever the cost (as they'd so readily proven), when there was nothing for him to get better for. What would he do? Couldn't stay here—didn't want to. Buffy...she was probably living the life she'd always wanted. Normal. Cookie-cutter. Boring.

Fuck.

He heard the door open and briefly wondered who was there; he didn't have a session with Sirra scheduled, and she was the only person who would brave his company these days, and that was by appointment only.

He stiffened and turned back to contemplating the wall when he sensed Leto, Alanna's all too familiar scent clinging to him.

“That's very Pollack,” Leto said, watching the viscous drip to the carpet. Spike remained mute, the only sign of his agitation the sound of his fingers drumming against his legs. His atrophied legs that couldn't support his weight without a lot of help.

He kept waiting for Leto to say something, anything. He was waiting for the questions and excuses. I'm sorry. How do you feel? It was for your own good. Are you ready to talk? It's going to get better, give it time. Can you ever forgive me? We will rebuild him, better than he was before.

Spike's fingers dug into his pants. He didn't need to be _rebuilt._ He was FINE.

He looked at Leto out of the corner of his eye, mind racing. Why was he just _sitting_ there? It didn't make sense. Even Sirra still tried to get him to talk. People give up quickly when they don't get a response. If someone has to choose between silence and babble, nine times out of nine-point-five they'll choose babble.

But Leto just...stayed.

***

“Has he chosen to remain?”

Leto sighed and dropped his head, trying to buy a few moments to contain himself. The Seek was restless and volatile, moods and tempers high and fraying. They were stuck in a shifting miasma of stagnation; they couldn't move until Spike made his decision. Not something any of them had experienced in years.

Alanna sat in her seat staring resolutely at the floor, tension radiating off of her. The Seek hadn't felt this discordant in several hundred years.

“I haven't talked to him about it,” Leto answered, voice smooth and controlled.

“If he does not remain, great misfortune shall fall upon the world,” the Seer murmured. The room grew still with the Seer's words, prophecy and warning all in one. Throughout the process, her warnings had been clear and consistent: the vampire must stay in Haven or great disaster would occur. In all of their years together, her visions had never been so precise and unwavering.

“Then perhaps we should have thought about that before betraying his trust?” Elkarik broke through the silence snidely. Leto felt Alanna's anger rip through him before she clamped down on her emotions and cut him off. Regardless, Elkarik's words brought the Seek to its feet, people yelling at one another, taking sides and arguing.

For a group of the most ancient and powerful beings in this world, they resemble hard-headed children throwing temper tantrums. Leto, Sirra, and the Seer are the only ones who remain stony and silent, watching the others—the ones who haven't interacted with the vampire in question on a regular basis—argue about things they do not understand. Alanna continued to stare at the ground, fingers clutching the armrests of her chair, jaw clenched.

As if he'd suddenly, unintentionally tapped into her ire, Leto felt a familiar urge to fight rise up in him. The Seer cast an approving look his way and settled back to watch.

**_“ATTEND!”_** The room stilled instantly, heads and eyes turning to him. Even Alanna startled, eyes watching his warily. He prowled around the room, making sure everyone looked him in the eye, taking note of those who would not meet his gaze.

“Pathetic,” he growled. “Infantile. _Cowardly._ ” He saw flinches at that, smiled in grim satisfaction. He whirled on Elkarik, let some of his demon bleed through his veneer of civility. “You speak of _our_ actions, of trust and betrayal, but you don't mean it. You don't mean _us_ or _we._ You mean _Alanna_. You mean to put the onus of responsibility on one person when it was this council that came up with the solution, this council that approved it, and this council that empowered Alanna to enact because none of you—none of us would take responsibility, and you dare—” He choked off, unable to finish speaking. The wrongness of what they were doing, their machinations and maneuverings, left a sour taste in his mouth. And in that, he had to acknowledge his own hypocrisy. He'd been blaming Alanna too, balking at their choice when the ramifications manifested.

“Leto—” She touched his arm, but he brushed her off, snarling.

“You're just going to let them—”

“LETO!” The warning echoed in his ears and his head, filled with so much meaning she might as well have given a speech. Her mind brushed his, powerful and solid: _We don't need to do this now. We need to be united, not at each other's throats. I don't need you to fight my battles, I'm choosing to stand down. I knew exactly what I was getting into. I chose this, I will bear the consequences._

Fucking slayers, always taking the high road. Leto nodded once and left the room, mad at himself and the world. He could feel the Seek watching him.

Elkarik sneered at Leto. “Perhaps we can leave the domestic drama for another time—”

“Shut UP, Elkarik,” Alanna growled with such ferocity he took a stumbling step back. Elkarik was difficult in the best of times—the Li'ishtar were a demanding, querulous breed with the social skills of a bull in a china shop—but he had a truly rare gift for making bad situations worse, and hot tempers boil over. “Where we place the blame is moot. We're in this together, and we're trying to do right by the world and by Spike. Right now, he may be pissed at all of us, but he blames me most, and we're going to keep it that way so you can do whatever the hell you have to do to convince him to stay. We've all seen the same vision, heard the same Prophecy. Spike leaves here before he's well and truly ready, he dies and the world goes to hell in a handbasket. So quit squabbling and figure out how to _fix it._ ”

***

Alanna retreated to her favorite spot, high on the top of the main spire. She could see for miles up here, let the wind carry her thoughts far, far away. She'd had an affinity for high places since she was a child, climbing up on the tall hills that surrounded her small village. And then she'd been Called, and her duty had taken her away from home. Perhaps, when they had a moment, she'd go back as see what had changed, scream her name in a long-forgotten language, throw the word at the hillsides and laugh as it echoed back.

“I had a name once,” the Seer murmured, looking over the city. She'd seen Haven rise in her dreams, hundreds of years before its time, gleaming and good. But it stood at a crossroads now, its future contingent upon a single vampire of indeterminate stature. If he left, Haven would swell briefly, their numbers rising as people sought refuge and safety, then fall abandoned, forgotten as the world slowly destroyed itself, groups pitted against one another in a never-ending cycle of violence. If he stayed...Haven had yet to see its golden years, filled with peace and light. “I lost it in the swirl of eternity.”

She frowned, because she was fairly certain those were not the words she meant to say. People often grew frustrated with her, smiled politely and called her obtuse and indecipherable behind her back. Alanna had long ago learned to take her tenebrous remarks in the spirit they had been offered. It was refreshing.

“Your name was Soscha.” Blurry images of youth and innocence came to her, more impressions than anything else. She shaped the word: Soscha. It felt familiar to her tongue. Right. Soscha.

“Yes. Yes, I believe it was.” She glanced at her friend, saw a deep scar over her eye on one path, a deeper one on her soul down the other. “Thank you.”


	17. Chapter 17

Spike made steady progress in his physical therapy. He did exactly what Sirra told him, dutifully went through every exercise without complaint.

It freaked her the fuck out.

Spike was a fighter, a gigantic pain in the ass who pushed boundaries with startling abandon. He smoldered. One instant he was a warmth and contentment, the next a blaze that destroyed anything in its path. She was expecting him to fight her every step of the way—so to speak. To push his body to the limits, run before he could walk. That was Spike's nature, so for him to be repressing himself so thoroughly set Sirra's teeth on edge. And it was getting to Spike as well.

She could _feel_ the build up. The tension, every time he denied his natural instincts. Spike was also a sociable creature, eking out a family in whatever circumstances he found himself in. This isolation wasn't doing him any favors.

She glanced up at him, but only saw muted anger in his eyes. She sighed and put him through another set of exercise, the silence loud around them.

***

“I understand this not,” Belekah mused. “What hopes he to accomplish?”

“He's brooding,” Sirra explained. “He...thinks too much. Rolls every decision, feeling and thought in his mind over and over. Nothing ever changes, but he keeps thinking about it. Sinking further and further into himself. It's incredibly unproductive.”

“Ah, this is the same as being down in the trashes.”

Sirra repressed a smile. Belekah was a Sookal demon, rare in this world. Her people went through gender shifts every hundred or so years. She was a beautiful slate grey in her current female form, and had been mangling standard English for going on several hundred years now.

“You're not fooling me. I know you know the correct slang AND sentence structure, Belekah,” Sirra said just to see what her response would be.

“Yes? Please to not be precipitating on my cavalcade, Sirra Fa'ac,” Belekah requested sincerely.

“Cavalcade? Really?” Sirra laughed. 

“If you are both quite done,” Elkarik sneered snootily, “can we return to the discussion at hand?”

“He is quite like some nettles,” Belekah remarked mildly. Elkarik bristled, glaring Belekah, who smiled emptily at him. A lot of people had been taken in by her act. It made her seem particularly vicious when she attacked. "He pains not until trod upon."

"They come," the Seer interrupted. She stood and pointed North, her fingers trembling. The entire Seek stood frozen, senses straining to find what was out of place, what they were being warned about. "They come _now."_ A deep boom sounded as something big impacted Haven's shields. Moments later an alarm blared all over the compound calling people to defend their home.

***

 

Spike's first plan was to ignore the alarm going off. The people thundering down the halls weren't his concern either; someone was bound to come get him if things were bad, and he couldn't smell smoke. 

 

It was harder to ignore the deep sonic boom that shook his windows and knocked the dishes off the counter. He made a snap decision and threw himself into his wheelchair; he could move faster and for longer in it than walking.

 

The hallways were deserted. Half-open doors revealed empty rooms, many of them with belongings scattered around the room, as if their occupants had searched for something in a rush. There was no waiting for the elevator, and Spike couldn't hear a heartbeat in the place. The overwhelming sense of wrong had his imagination spinning out of control, scenarios flying at an alarming rate—what if this place was a lie, all in his head, hell? 

 

The streets around his building were empty, but he followed his ears and turned onto one of the main rows. People were sprinting towards the edge of town, weapons in hand. Spike gaped.

 

There was a tear in the face of the world, a rent in the fabric of space. Spike imagined he could feel the darkness pouring out of that gash. Swearing, he wheeled himself in the direction of the tear, falling in with the other grim-faced humans and demons answering the call to arms.

 

Something was threatening his home, and Spike would die before he'd allow something like his legs stop him from defending it.

 

\---

 

Someone had opened a giant portal to a Hell dimension over the south-east side of Haven. Dark creatures, the stuff of nightmares, hammered at the shield. Each hit sent a shower of gold sparks flying into the air.

"It's the Senior Partners," Leto growled. "Has to be."

"Whatever they did has weakened that area of the shields; they'll break through eventually," Sirra said, throwing a diagnostic of the shield into the air. The weakened area glowed red while the rest of the shield was a healthy blue. “Look, you can still see some of the sigils from the original spell eating into the dome. Even without the attack, the shield will eventually fall.”

"We should let it." The Seek turned to Alanna as one, united in their disbelief. "We can't let the creatures go, they'll go to ground and breed. We're surrounded by miles of woods and they move fast. It's easier to make sure they're all dead if we let them in here versus tracking them out there. Plus we know this ground. Anywhere else we go they'll have the advantage."

“It's a good plan,” Elkarik agreed. “The Seer has already assembled the witches. They can close the portal faster without the shield in the way.” A quick glance around showed the Seek in agreement.

“Then we move on the Shieldsmith's word,” Alanna said. “To your posts.” Leto let his fingers trail over Alanna's face before he was gone, loping off towards the rest of his coven.

Alanna headed towards the slayer contingent, all of them grim-faced and geared for war. Her squad leaders were all waiting for her, their quads in formation behind them. Well trained and ready for anything, Alanna thought with pride.

“We're dropping the shields,” she said without preamble. “Those things out there are nasty and vicious and they cannot be allowed to break the line. Mika, Bai, Erin you're our last line. Whatever gets through is yours. You're also playing reserves, replace anyone who gets sent out.” The three women nodded and left, their squads filing after them.

“Daniella, Ptraicia, Akima, and Loren are first string. Anne, Whitney, Marie-Noel, Karen are second. Everyone else falls in behind them. Take care of your sisters and if you're hurt tagout. Understood?” Her officers saluted her and returned to their squadrons, disseminating her orders and giving a few of their own.

"We drop this section of the shields on my mark." Braen's voice, augmented to carry over the battlefield, came in clearly. The sound of weapons being unsheathed, guns being primed and people preparing for battle echoed over the field. The Luthtii war chant began, a throbbing sound that spoke to the violent, primal place in Alanna. She felt the witch's coven gather their power, the might of them a tight knot at the base of her skull.

“Get ready!” she called out. It seemed for a moment that the world held still, waiting.

“Three...two...one...MARK!” The shield came down. An angry, deafening roar came through, the sound no longer muffled. A moment later the creatures that poured through the gap were killing machines: mouths filled with sharp teeth, poisonous claws, muscled tails that could do just as much damage as the talons.

The first of the creatures were dragged down by a phalanx of demons lead by Bra'that, one of the Seek's youngest members. The Naga, half snake half human hybrids capable of assuming either form and deadly poisonous in their reptilian form, wound between legs and feet, damning their enemies to a slow and painful death.

Hundreds of Haven's residents threw themselves into the fight. Alanna twitched when the vampires moved, hitting the front lines with a ferocity that made the dark creatures stumble back. She kept herself in check, just as her slayers were. They all had friends in the fray.

A raucous cry sounded from above. One of the creatures has slipped through the shield and managed to take flight.

“Sauda!” she barked. Moments later an arrow flew straight and true. It pierced the creature through the neck and it hit the ground with bone-shattering force. Sauda broke away from the contingent without asking, armed with a vicious dirk. It only took moments for her to return, a splash of dark blood on her chest, and disappear back into the rank of slayers.

The battle raged and the creatures slowly pushed forward, their sheer numbers forcing the Haven forces to give ground.

“Get ready!” Alanna called. She watched as the Haven line split in two, the invading creatures being funneled right to them, tired and bloodied. “Elu!” The slayers surged forward, their blades singing through the air.

\---

“Pressure bandage and a clotting agent, he'll keep.” Spike leaned down and sniffed a wound on a human's stomach, deep and bleeding almost black. “Got his intestines, he needs care now, go.” Spike triaged every soldier placed before him to the best of his abilities. The medical tents were overflowing with wounded. Those who could walk were patched up with war-zone medicine, magical bandages and quick fixes. “He's...” Spike swallowed and looked up at the medic pushing the gurney. He shook his head and the man's eyes flashed briefly with pain, then to blank acceptance.

“Help! I need help! SOMEONE!” Spike turned to see one of the baby slayers standing helplessly in the entrance, her arms full. Spike wheeled over, calm until he caught sight of familiar red hair. “Help!”

“You!” Spike barked. “On this bed, now!” The girl followed directions well, gently settling Alanna onto the bed. She had a nasty gash on her chest, four parallel marks that started at her shoulder and travelled across to her sternum.

“Oh God, my fault, all my fault. I dropped my guard and it got in, and if she hadn't-if-if-if—d” Spike tuned her out. There was poison in the wound, something fetid and dangerous. He could see it spreading out, red lines creeping out further and further with every heartbeat.

“You!” Spike snarled, pinning the hysterical slayer with golden eyes. Her mouth snapped closed and she looked at him mutely. “Go find a doctor, then get back on the field. NOW.” The slayer squeaked and scurried off.

Spike closed his eyes and let himself shift. Most of the poison was concentrated at the top of the wound. With a thought that Leto would understand, Spike sunk his teeth into the skin around the wound and sucked.

Alanna's blood was tainted and disgusting. Not even the power in her blood could counteract the taste of the poison. Spike gamely sucked as much as he could, careful not to swallow. He spit the thick, infected blood into a bowl and went back in. He worked his way methodically down the wound, draining her blood until it tasted as clean as he could make it; Alanna would have to do the rest of the work, but she was old and strong.

“Spike?” He finally became aware of voices calling him, gentle hands on his head. A light shined in his eyes and he swatted it away. “There you are. How do you feel?” Now that she mentioned it, his mouth was numb. Sirra laughed at him.

“That's okay, you saved Alanna's life. I need you to drink this.” A warm glass was pressed into his hands. Spike automatically raised it to his lips and drank. It was thick, with the consistency of blood, but he couldn't taste it. He drained the whole glass and held it out.

“Wow, alright, we're going to move you to the main hospital too, I think you ingested some of that poison. Shh, shh, it's okay, we closed the gap. We're only cleaning up now. Don't worry, we've got you. We've got you both.”


	18. Chapter 18

Something woke Spike up. He blinked at the ceiling; he was in the hospital. He could smell the antiseptic and the death-sickness-hurt it tried to cover up. He hated this place. He reached out with his senses and tried to figure out what had woken him.

Cautiously, when nothing seemed out of place, he swung his legs over the rail. Framed in the doorway was a man with long stringy hair and clothes that barely fit him. It took a moment for Spike to realize he didn't register; none of his senses picked him up. Before Spike could utter a warning the man lunged forward.

He pinned Spike to the, bony knees digging into Spike's thighs. His hair was white in the darkness, and he had no eyes. Spike tried to throw him off but the man wasn't human; he was stronger than Spike, sheer muscle.

A hand clamped over Spike's mouth and he shifted, his fangs digging into cold flesh. His mouth filled with ash and dead, congealed blood. Spike screamed in pain as the man used his nil to carve a sigil in his skin, right over his dead heart.

“Tabalu,” the man said, his voice a dry crack. “Lukur patu, ehu—” The man's mouth opened in a silent scream; he had no teeth or tongue. Golden light seemed to fill him from the inside making his skin translucent. His eye sockets were empty and dark.

“Gidim xul barra!” a strained voice ordered. The man jerked and exhaled a shower of dust and collapsed on top of Spike, dead weight.

“Spike? Shit, Spike!” The man was dragged off of him and Alanna's face popped into view, her eyes shadowed. Spike tried to speak but the fetid blood choked him. He rolled to one side and hacked it up. It tasted just as bad coming back up as it did going down.

“Fuck, get as much of it up as you can.” Alanna thrust a trash can under his face. Jesus, his stomach hurt. He rode through a stomach pang and gagged at the end of it, the pain was so intense. Alanna ran a soothing hand over his back.

Spike was in so much pain he didn't even flinch when the door burst open and people crowded their way into his room. Their voices were too loud, tripping over each other and making his head hurt.

“Shut up, all of you!” Sirra finally snapped and Spike had never been so happy to hear her voice. Cool hands touched his temples and some of the pain receded. “He's fine, but xul blood is not a great mix for vampires. When he's feeling a little better we'll move him to one of the safe houses.”

“THIS is what the attack was about?” Spike frowned down at the trash can. “All of that to assassinate one stupid vampire?” A snarl that was all Leto and the sound of a body cracking drywall made Spike smile despite his pain.

“You will have respect,” Leto growled, low and deadly.

“Whatever,” the voice replied, though with less attitude.

“He wasn't trying to kill Spike.” That came from Alanna, her hand now lightly stroking through Spike's hair. It felt good. “He was trying to kidnap him.”

“That's impossible, we have wards!” All the voices started talking against and Spike curled into Alanna trying to block out the noise.

“Sorry, I know. I'll kick them out in a minute, just hold on. I need to show them...” Hands gently turned Spike over so his chest was visible. The talking stopped, but his relief at that was undercut by how much this new position hurt.

“Alal,” someone said, and it had the same sound as the other words Spike hadn't known.

“They want him bad enough to open a portal to a Hell dimension as a _distraction._ ” Spike punctuated that little announcement by throwing up what was left in his stomach.

***

Spike watched the various demons bustling around the room. They all looked so...normal. He'd seen them all around Haven at some point and he never would have identified them as Seek. And most of them had human-looking forms they could slip into. Like the bald guy with weird eyes who looked almost...reptilian.

“That's Nishthu. He's Naga.” Sirra offered him a mug of blood and Spike sighed. He'd never overfed before but Sirra seemed pretty set on making him eat every time she saw him. “If he irritates you tell him to go suck an egg.”

“I'll do that,” Spike said dryly and put the mug on the side table, out of sight. “Is this really necessary?”

“As the Senior Partners went through a lot of trouble to get a Wraith into Haven just to kidnap you—yes.”

“But—”

“Spike, we don't move just anyone into quarters with us. And we will answer all of your questions, that's what this meeting is for. So drink your dinner and shut up.” Sirra turned away and started talking to a blue-skinned demon with odd eyes and a distracted air.

“Hey.” Spike looked up and wasn't surprised to see Alanna hovering. “Just wanted to see how you were settling in.”

“Digs right next to the Minean Seek? Property values are absurd,” Spike said sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, we can be nosy neighbors,” Alanna returned, smiling thinly She was still pale and obviously not up to full strength, but since the venom had proven fatal to most of the people who'd been infected Spike figured she was doing pretty damn good.

“Lips tells me you'll be answerin' my questions. Better not be any of that cryptic bullshit.”

“Cryptic is a relative assessment.” Spike turned to see the lavender-skinned demon with blue eyes staring at him—through him. “You will find the words very clear if you know how to look at them.”

“Our Seer,” Alanna introduced. “She only speaks the truth.”

“Ask your questions, Childe. We shall answer,” the Seer said, and that seemed to herald the start of the meeting. Spike glanced around the gathered demons. Most of them appeared either bored or neutral; one scowled at everything that was said and seemed pretty ornery on the whole.

“Why'd you lie to me?” Spike didn't try to censor himself, though it occurred to him belatedly that antagonizing the most powerful people he'd ever met might not be the most sensible course of action. Though really, he'd never been _sensible._ “Why'd you...why'd you do _that?”_

“You had to stay or the world would scream as it died.” The Seer's gaze flared bright.

“Uh...” Spike glanced helplessly at Sirra and Alanna. “I don't.”

“We had to fix you before you left or you'd find a way to end the world,” the scowling demon sneered. “Easiest way to keep you here while we fixed your legs was take away the temptation to leave.”

“Elkarik!” Alanna growled, rising to her feet.

“The legs are not what's broken,” the Seer's voice overshadowed the rising hubbub. The silence that fell spoke to years of conditioning to listen when she spoke. Spike flinched when her gaze turned to him. “There is greatness in you, William Pratt. You _will_ do great things—terrible or wondrous, they will be great.”

“You hold the future of this world in your hand.” The words were barely above a whisper. A pixie, glowing softly in the light of the room, flew down to hover in Spike's face.

“That's Chadra,” Sirra murmured to him. “You can offer him your hand.” Spike obligingly put his hand under his nose, palm as flat as he could make it. Chadra alighted on his hand and stood at eye-level. Bright, glowing dust fell from his wings every time he shifted.

“Should I be thinkin' happy thoughts then?” he asked. Alanna snorted and Spike thought he caught the hint of a smile right before he got a face full of pixie dust. He sneezed violently, several times in a row.

“FYI, your hair changes with every sneeze,” Sirra told him. She conjured an enchanted mirror and, sure enough, his hair was a violent purple.

“Bloody—you pint-sized little bugger!” Chadra laughed and flipped through the air, far out of Spike's reach. Which left Spike standing on shaky legs and swiping at the tiniest member of the Minean Seek. He flashed them a smirk and sat back down.

“You have a way with words,” a voice with a Russian accent said. It's owner was a creature with two faces, one in the front and the other facing back. He bowed slightly to Spike. “I am Suvid. I ask your forgiveness for my part in keeping you here. We were uncertain of your mental state after being trapped under the rubble and losing the use of your legs. Our goal was to ease your healing process as much as we could—but we are not infallible.”

“I...thank you,” Spike said, uncomfortable being the center of attention amongst these people. Suvid bowed again, accepting Spike's forgiveness, and took his seat. Each of the Seek followed suit, and Spike shrank back further in his chair as apologies were laid at his feet and introductions made.

They were going in some sort of order because everyone was looking expectantly at the same person when an Ashrak demon named Sadie—of all things—finished her apology. Spike wasn't sure, be he thought it may be a Li'ishtar demon.

“Sorry,” he said flatly, arms crossed over his chest.

“Elkarik,” Leto warned. The Li'ishtar eyed Spike. Spike stared right back, not giving an inch. 

“Your hair looks less stupid blonde,” the demon ground out and snapped his fingers. Beside him Sirra rolled her eyes and Alanna huffed a laugh.

“That means he likes you,” Alanna whispered.

“Joys,” Spike muttered back, sinking down in his seat as what could only be a Naga slithered up to him.

***

Spike was hanging out on the roof, legs dangling over the side, wondering how many people in the world got individual apologies from the entirety of the Seek in one setting. He stared out at the setting sun, the outlines of the buildings dark against the brilliant sky. This place...Spike hesitated to put a name to the feeling it evoked, but past the lingering anger and sense of betrayal he still felt, this place felt like home.

“So I'm either going to save the world or destroy it,” Spike called out. Alanna was hovering in the background, just close enough to be annoying, and it was distracting.

“Something like that,” Alanna said. She sat next to him, Indian style, and propped her head on her hand. A sharp flair of red illuminated the sky; the shield being put back together. The magical shock wave washed over them moments later, powerful enough to make Spike shiver.

“You had enough power to keep me here,” Spike said.

“We needed you to heal. We needed you to _want_ to heal.” Familiar ground they'd been over already, but it didn't make Spike feel any better.

“Pretty sure you could have made me want that, too.” He didn't look at her, but he felt her flinch.

“Maybe there are some lines even I won't cross. Not even to save the world.”

“That's a soddin' fine line,” Spike said with a bitter laugh.

“We weigh the fate of the world daily,” Alanna said, looking over Haven. They'd built this place from scratch, quite literally put their blood and sweat and tears into it. “I think we sometimes forget that the _world_ isn't what's important.”

They lapsed into silence.

“I would have left,” Spike said suddenly. “I would have left to find her.”

“I know,” Alanna said after a moment.

“But for now, I'm going to stay.”


	19. Chapter 19

Things weren't perfect, but they were better. Spike and Alanna still tread carefully around each other. The rest of the Seek seemed to have adopted Spike as their mascot. It was, frankly, a bit creepy. And Spike was really starting to hate Chadra. The flighty fairy fuck would douse him with pixie dust if he wasn't 'polite enough'--for whatever twisted value of politeness the crazed creature was operating under at the time.

 

"Focus!"

 

"Oh fuck off, if I _focused_ any harder I'd burn holes your head you flowery twat!" Spike growled through clenched teeth. Sirra snarled at him and leaned in, forcing his legs to bear more weight. Spike let out a string of invectives that let her know exactly what he thought of her 'therapy.'

 

"You say that now, but you've almost got full range of motion back. Now all we have to do is work on your...stamina." Spike waggled his eyebrows and leered.

 

"I'll let you know there's nothin' wrong with my stamina, Lips," Spike purred. Sirra leaned down into Spike's personal space.

 

"Then let's see you walk all the way to your chambers...without stopping." Spike shifted and snapped at Sirra's neck but she was already dancing away, laughing at him, her own mouth of razor-sharp teeth bared in a barely-friendly grin. "That's what I thought."

 

"Innit against doctor policy to mock your patient?"

 

"No. You should teach your fledgling manners."

 

"I'll teach him to fly first," Leto said dryly.

 

"Oi! I've got manners." Two pairs of eyes stared at him in disbelief. "Just because I _choose_ not to _use_ 'em..." Leto snorted and tossed Spike a shiny black cane with intricately wrought symbols etched into it. It was fine craftsmanship and fit Spike's hand like it was made for him. Which it very well might have been. Spike ran his thumb over the grip and fought back an upswell of emotion.

 

"Come on. We've got places to go." Spike glanced questioningly at Leto. "I want to show you what Haven's really about. You think your legs are up to it?" In truth, Spike's legs ached and his back was starting to cramp.

 

"Lead on, MacDuff."

 

***

 

By they time they made it to the main building Spike needed to sit down. Every step burned and he was leaning heavily on his cane. Spike tried to cover, but he figured the game was up when Leto clicked his fingers and a demon with a wheelchair showed up moments later.

 

"One of the perks of being in charge," Leto said with a grin.

 

They entered a large, well-lit room. What looked like blueprints were projected onto the front wall. Spike could sense six individual slayer signatures and several Master vampires in amongst the human and other demons. Alanna was sitting off to one side, unruly hair pulled back in a bun, next to Nishthu Naga. Bra'that was going over...assault plans.

 

"Maintaining the balance between good and evil," Leto leaned over to whisper, "is sometimes a hands-on job."

"Slayers and demons are playing back up on this one. Vamps--you're really on the hook for this. We're sending in one slayer under some really powerful spells to cover her up, but the rest of our undercovers are going to be at a severe disadvantage if shit goes down."

"So don't fuck up," Alanna said. "Wouldn't want the slayers to come in and save your pale, sparkly asses." The other slayers laughed and the vampires all growled, but there wasn't any threat behind it. Just good old fashioned competitive spirit between mortal enemies.

"Alright! Humans and vampires need to pair off. Make sure you have your signals worked out. Slayers...go bother Alanna."

"Close your eyes." Spike started, wrapped up in watching the carefully choreographed chaos on the floor. Spike complied, fingers gripping the bars of his chair. "They're going to shut down a dangerous potions operation. Addictive stuff. Dangerous."

"Cops," Spike murmured, watching everyone divide into groups or pairs.

"Exactly. And I want you to tell me everything you can about our operatives." Spike cracked open an eye and looked skeptically at Leto; figuring out different demonic signatures was fledge work. "With your eyes closed." Spike rolled his eyes and did as he was told.

"You've got six slayers, eight vampires--seven Masters 'n' one Diligo--two Brachen, a Naga and two different demons that feel mean but I've never felt 'em before." He opened one eye and Leto motioned him to continue. "And seven humans."

"Anything else you want to add?" Leto asked.

 

"The Brachan may have some human in him?" Judging by Leto's expression, Spike had failed whatever test this had been. Pushing down the instinctive sense of failure, Spike closed his eyes and ignored all the previous information. He started fresh, blank-slate, and mapped the room with his senses. He could hear the slow, steady heartbeats of the slayer's and the slightly faster beats of the humans--the familiar double-beat of a human heart. The Brachen had fast heart beats, so fast they sounded like a continuous susurrous. The vampires had no heartbeats, but he could feel each and everyone of them instinctively; the Diligo felt _less_ than the Masters that surrounded her. One of the unidentified demons had a very similar resonance. Spike ticked off the cold body signature as the Naga which just left two--his eyes flew open and he straightened in his chair, searching for the presence he couldn't see but could feel.

 

\---

 

Alanna spared a glance for her mate as she felt Spike's attention travel over the group. She noted which of her slayers felt the scrutiny and which did not; they'd have to work on that. She was particularly pleased that her three most senior field agents all located the source as well.

 

_He looking for Vitesh?_ she sent to Leto.

 

_He doesn't know what he's looking for,_ Leto returned.

 

_You want to put him on a team,_ Alanna accused. _He's not ready._

 

_Of course not,_ Leto sent back scathingly, going so far as to glare at her from the back of the room. _But last time I checked searching a room didn't require him to use his legs._

 

Abruptly Spike sat up, eyes flying open and searching the room suspiciously. His eyes narrowed on the far corner and he cocked his head to the side, as if listening for something.

 

_By George, I think he's got it!_ Leto crowed.

_Yeah okay, Professor Higgins, just don't get ahead of yourself,_ Alanna said with a mental eye roll. But underneath Leto could feel the mess of sappy, proud, mushy feelings.

 

_You are such a sap._

 

\---

 

"It's always invisible?" Spike asked for the fiftieth time.

 

"To most visual spectrum, yes," Leto answered...for the fiftieth time.

 

"An entire species that's always invisible, all the time? Can't control it."

 

"It's a survival instinct," Leto sighed.

 

" _Turning_ invisible is a survival instinct. This is just bloody brilliant. Imagine all the things you could do--"

 

"And what great back up you make if you can infiltrate a building unseen," Leto said pointedly.

 

"Right, and that," Spike joked. "

 

"Oh yeah? When do I get to go?"

 

"You get Sirra to clear you and we'll put you on a team." Leto clapped Spike on the shoulder. "But for now, let's get you home. Arsenal's playing."

 

***

 

The next few weeks were a whirlwind tour of the inner workings of Haven. The place was massive—far bigger than Spike had thought.

 

Underneath the South section of the dome was a huge underground cave that housed the most complex hydroponic garden in existence. Several dryads and other tree spirits and earth elementals lived down there, with a false sun set into the ceiling. They grew most of Haven's food down there. Every kind of environment existed in the space, from arid deserts to rainforests.

 

Leto and Alanna let him sit on more staging meetings, from Haven operatives infiltrating the homes of supernaturally gifted individuals to make sure their parents were handling the situation well to full on stings that would make any police force drool. Every mission had a Seek member on hand, and not always in a leading role. Spike had nervously accepted an invitation to help coordinate one of the assaults, relaying important information the the different teams.

 

But the most nerve wracking occurrence had been Spike's formal introduction to the vampire Coven. Leto was treated as a Master Vampire visiting another Master's territory in the House. Leto was technically the Master Vampire of Haven, but Jenner—a short, dark-skinned man who was an almost 600-year-old Aztec _not_ originally named Jenner—was responsible for maintaining peace and order of Haven's only Vampire Coven. 

 

Jenner was...centered. There was a stillness to him Spike rarely saw in anyone, much less the vampires of his acquaintance. Age and an awareness that made Spike aware of everything he'd ever done in his unlife. He somehow combined approachability with I-will-fuck-your-shit-up -if-you-step-out-of-line.

 

Jenner and Leto held great respect for one another, that much was obvious, and that respect was extended to Spike without question. It was a complete departure from what Spike had been taught to expect. Respect had to be earned. Through fear, intimidation, bloodshed and violence. Who's the better killer. Angelus never used his power or clout to protect his Childe; he was often the worst perpetrator. The entire situation left Spike feeling off balanced. He _hated_ feeling off balanced.

 

“You haven't heard a word I've said.” Spike jerked out of his reverie and blinked at Sirra.

 

“What?”

 

“Seriously? This could be the penultimate moment of your life and you can't be arsed to listen.” She shook her head and threw her hands in the air.

 

“Lips, stop with the dramatic and—”

 

“Your range of motion is as good as it's going to get with me. Everything else will just take time and repetition. You can start living life as normal.” Spike stared. “Seriously. You're healed. I'll even let Alanna take you to the gym and beat you up.”

 

“But...I'm not...” Spike trailed off.

 

“All that's left now is to keep building up your strength,” Sirra said, a bright smile on her face. “That's all about time and use. So congratulations. You've officially passed Haven's rigorous physical therapy standards. Would you like a gold star?”

 

***

 

Alanna didn't beat him up, Leto did.

 

Leto put Spike through his paces, broke him of every single bad habit he'd spent 200 years perfecting, and then beat him up some more.

 

“This is bloody Childe abuse,” Spike moaned from the floor. He never wanted to move again but still accepted Leto's hand up when it was offered.

 

“Well, you could always go train with the Slayers.” Leto punctuated his remark by putting Spike right back down on the floor.

 

“I think I will.”

 

That wasn't the great idea he thought it was. Alanna is _mean._ She didn't even care that she stole Spike's memories and nearly but him back in a coma because of it. Admittedly, they seemed to work out the rest of their lingering issues between dirty elbows and sucker punches.

 

Also, the slayerettes fight mean too. Not all Haven's slayerettes—just Alanna's, the ones she personally trained and kicked the shit out of every single day. They approached every single fight like they won't walk away from it which Spike had to admit was a good mentality for any slayer to cultivate. Besides, both Alanna and Leto were so far out of their league that any fight was pretty much a game of “when will they kill me?”

 

It was after one of these knock-down drag-out fights, Spike scrambling to defend himself against two opponents who could share a thought between them, that he came to his decision. Sprawled on the floor, staring up at an all-too-familiar ceiling, whole and in the best shape of his life, Spike took the plunge.

 

“I...I want to go find Buffy.”


	20. Chapter 20

Spike expelled a deep breath and prepared to answer any questions they might throw at him. He was prepared for a fight, ready to use all of his stubborn persuasiveness to convince these people to use their resources to get him to Buffy.

“Okay,” Alanna said. Spike blinked.

“What?”

“Okay. She’s in Rome. We figured you’d ask eventually, so we’ve been monitoring her movements. We’ve got a portal set up and everything, we’re ready to go when you are.”

Spike took a moment to process that. He’d been here for almost two years, and they were still surprising him. With a whoop, he pick Alanna up and spun her around. She laughed at his antics, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I’m going to Rome!” he hollered, putting her back on her feet. For a moment, he remembered what it had been like, Before. Alanna smiled softly at him, her expression holding a shadow of regret but no censorship. They'd never be like before, but they could perhaps be something greater.

Leto laughed and clapped him on the back, breaking the fragile moment between them.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” Spike said with a smirk. He had a girl to see.

\---

Spike was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. He couldn’t stop moving, anticipation coursing through his veins.

“Spike, that is seriously disturbing me, stop it,” an annoyed voice said. Vala was a Thannik demon, green and scaly with a mean bite that ate away at the nervous system—even for vampires. But not even Vala’s eternal surliness could suppress the need to move, to _do._

“Oh Vala, mistress of everything green, keeper of the portals and keeper of my heart,” Spike said with grandeur, “do not fear, I shall return. Despair not, for my face shall haunt your waking hours, and I’ll never be far from you.”

Vala shook her head, trying to repress a smile. Spike was one of the few creatures who managed to break through her carefully cultivated facade. “You know if you’d stop pacing and jumping around, I’d have this portal ready to go faster. Why don’t you go bother Mommy and Daddy? Can’t leave without them.”

“That is a brilliant idea, luv!” Spike nearly sprinted down the hall. He found Alanna and Leto in one of the rec rooms arguing about which restaurant they should visit.

“But I love Crudo,” Alanna said with a pout.

“We’ve been there so many times!” Leto protested, he eyes firmly affixed to her protruding lip. “Besides, their menu sucks. Makes your blood taste bad.” Spike loosed a predatory grin at that. Leto had just plunged himself in a hole halfway to China.

“Funky? You think my blood tastes...funky?” Spike chuckled as her words penetrated Leto’s lust-induced haze. He practically heard the warning bells going off.

“N-no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh really. And what, _exactly_ , did you mean by ‘makes your blood taste weird?'” Her saccharine tone was deceptively deadly; Spike smirked as Leto got flustered.

“I just...ah, well, you see...certain foods just don’t agree with you--“

“Agree with me?” Alanna asked icily.

“ME! Me, they don’t agree...with...me...” Leto trailed off weakly. Alanna’s flat gaze had Spike cringing with Leto in male solidarity.

“Vala says it’s almost time to go,” Spike interrupted, acknowledging Leto’s grateful look. As fun as watching the mated pair blow up was--and it really really was--he had a girl to see.

“Alright,” Alanna agreed amicably. She smiled brightly, which had both men freezing in their tracks like frightened deer. “Just hold on a moment, I’m going to call Sirra. We need a more uncomfortable couch.”

“You are a brave man, mate,” Spike said, and led a long-suffering Leto towards the portal.

***

Spike took a deep breath. Smelt like Rome. He grinned. Rome.

“Sulla strada... sì... ciao, bella. Lei stupisce.” Alanna hung up her phone. “She’s at a club near Campo de fiori. Since _some people_ feel my taste in restaurants is wanting,” she said glaring at Leto, who had the good sense to look apologetic, “I figure we’ll find a nice cafe nearby and eat there. Something with normal, uncreative food. Adalante!”

Spike followed a few steps behind, tuning out their bickering as he thought about how his reunion with Buffy would go. She’d see him, and be stunned. Then she’d pop him one right in the nose. He grinned at that. They’d kiss, she’d probably pop him another one and then demand an explanation. He’d explain the situation, they’d talk, snog some more. Nibblet would show up and be all excited and happy for him.

She'd look at him blankly, then blink and stutter out a hello. She'd be happy to see him, like a long-lost friend who reappeared in your life, and that would be it. Maybe offer him a position back in her circle, welcome muscle. You could never have enough muscle.

Maybe she'd cry. Spike winced. No, no crying. He couldn't take Buffy crying.

Maybe they wouldn't have to say anything. They'd see each other and find a quiet place. Just sit there, watching the night turn into the grey pre-dawn. When they'd have to find shelter.

Maybe she'd—

“Spike. SPIKE. We’re here.”

He looked up, and for a moment fear crawled through his belly, thick and overwhelming.

“Well be down the street, back the way we came if you need,” Alanna said, giving him a brief hug. Leto gave him and encouraging thump on the back before following his mate. Leaving him alone to do what he needed to do. Spike turned and faced the building, the deep thrum of the bass-line rocking the street. With a deep breath, Spike plunged himself into the dark interior of the club.

He took a moment to orient himself. The pulsing music, the raging hormones and racing heartbeats gave him pause. It’d been a long time since he’d been in a situation like this. He felt his demon rise in response, and embraced it. He sniffed the air, and even with the scent of hundreds of people...he still smelled vanilla and jasmine and, “Slayer,” he growled.

He tracked the scent, let it cover him and focused solely on her. He pushed and fought his way through the crowd until there she was, on the dance floor, long blonde hair flowing as she spun to the music. Buffy.

He was so absorbed in her that he failed to recognize the tug of family as Angel saw his wayward childe for the first time in over two years.

Angel watched Spike stalk through the nightclub. He moved fluidly, like the predator he was, winding between clueless humans. Angel’s eyes narrowed. Almost two years since the collapse of Sunnydale, since he’d felt his connection with his annoying spawn suddenly return, and he picked now to come looking for her? Angel needed to have a little chat with his annoying bleached relative, preferably without letting Buffy in on his presence.

Spike watched her dancing, wild and free. She looked good, his Goldilocks. Healthy. He growled when the prat she was dancing with wrapped his arms about her waist and stilled her movements. How dare he try and stop...and for the second time in his life, Spike felt the world around him collapse.

It wasn’t possible. He looked again, and there, on Buffy’s left ring finger, a diamond sparkled in the light. He tracked it as she spun away from the nondescript man and pulled him off the dance floor, laughing the whole time. He followed their trajectory and in a corner, sat most of the Sunnyhell crew. The Whelp was there with a new chit who looked suspiciously like Anya. Willow was there looking more poised that Spike had ever seen. And that annoying boy with the camera, Andrew, stuck out like a sore thumb...but still seemed to belong. Buffy pushed the man into a chair and promptly claimed his lap. Spike saw red and moved to...to do something when a voice from his past stopped him in his tracks.

“You really shouldn’t do that, William.”

Panic and humiliation flooded him. Spike's vision blurred before he caught control of himself, concentrating on breathing in a steady, calming pace. In out. In out. Schooling his features into an unreadable mask, Spike turned to regard the bane of his existence.

“Angelus.”

“Where have you been hiding, Boy? I was told you died in the Hellmouth. Knew a few months later that wasn’t true, but I expected you to get here sooner.” His gaze flicked to Buffy, and Spike couldn’t help but follow his eyes. “A lot of things happened while you were gone.”

“Yeah, the key there beein’ while is was GONE, Angelus,” Spike said with a smirk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a girl to see. Peaches.” Spike went to move around the older vamp, but Angel moved with him.

“Look at her Spike. Your Golden Goddess. Effulgent. Look at her.” Everything in Spike screamed at him not to listen to Angel. He twisted reality, spun lies from truth. “She’s happy. Doesn’t she look happy, and healthy? Content.” She did. She was beautiful and radiant and relaxed. Not like those last days on the hellmouth, too skinny and exhausted from the stress.

“She’s engaged Spike.” Angel’s words tickled his ear and nausea rolled through him. “She’s in love. Look at how she acts around him, how carefree. He’s human, doesn’t come with reminders about a life she never wished she’d had. He can take her out into the sun. Did you know one of their favorite things is to walk through the park at noon, just strolling, hand in hand.”

Spike’s hands were clenched in fists and his entire body tensed. He closed his eyes.

_It’s a trick. It’s Angelus. Don’t listen. It’s a trick it’s a trick it’s a trick..._ He repeated the mantra over and over, but Angelus’s words cut through his unstable shields.

“He hasn’t killed or maimed or tortured. He doesn't have to remind her every night what he is. He's not a barely-leashed animal just waiting for the excuse to break free. He brings her peace. He brings her life and hope and brightness. Can you do that for her, Spike? Can you really tell me this time will be any different than the last?” Angel allowed a small smile of triumph cross his face as he felt Spike crumble word by word. Really, it was for the best. He was just protecting Buffy.

“I love her—”

“She doesn’t love you. And if you really love her, you’ll walk away from this and let her have the life she deserves. You aren’t good enough for her, William. You can never be good enough.” Spike took a second to study her, to see how she laughed so easily, how she casually exchanged touches and caresses with the man she was engaged to. She was happy. Her friends were happy. They glowed with life, something he had given up many years ago.

“Do right by her and let her go, Spike.” Tension entered Buffy’s frame. She began to slowly scan the crowds, moving towards the spot where they were talking...and Spike knew Angel was right. He was a vampire, deluded into thinking he could lo—he could have this. He strained his ears over the music and listened to her table's conversation. Willow was gushing about decorations and invitations. Harris was joking about wedding nights and bachelor parties. Spike tore away from Angel and ran.

Angelus smirked, took one last look at his Slayer, and followed his Childe and a sedate pace. He'd catch up with Spike and start teaching him all the lessons he'd forgotten.

***

Buffy was having a good time tonight. Willow and Xander had flown in from England and Africa, respectively, for a Scoobie reunion and engagement celebration. Dawn had a Honors presentation in a week and the group was going to fly to L.A. to see it. Willow was helping the Slayer’s Council set up a magic school alongside the Slayer training school Giles had started to train all the slayerettes. Xander was running the North African branch of the Council, situated in Cairo; he had a hard job identifying potentials before their communities did. They'd lost several girls to the proliferation of rumors and superstition, some killed by their own parents. Others were closely guarded, considered precious by their tribes and unaware of the full extent of their powers. They'd tried many things: a school branch in Africa, traveling teachers, aide in exchange for exchange for each slayerette turned over to them unharmed. So far nothing had worked consistently. Buffy missed her friends, but recognized the importance of their work, and she was enjoying having them around.

The past two years...God, had it only been two years?...had been crazy and difficult. She’d spent the first six months locked in a room, refusing to come out until Dawn had managed to get through to her. She’d spent the next six months dating, and silently resenting, Jonas, the man her friends had set her up with. But when she’d stopped resenting him and had given him a chance, she realized he was a truly decent man, inside and out.

She twirled and danced to the music, letting herself and her worries go. She lost track of everything around her, lost in the beat. She suppressed a growl of irritation when Jonas wrapped an arm around her waist, stilling her movements. She wanted to be free, moving and twisting, not pressed up against a body. She suppressed a sigh. He couldn’t read her, not well, and certainly not as well as--NO. That was the path to badness and weepy, moody Buffy. These days she was happy, perky Buffy who was excitedly and perkily engaged to a great guy.

She turned in Jonas’ embrace and danced with him. He really was very nice.

“You’re beautiful, my flower,” he whispered into her hair. She smiled, ignoring the part of her that rebelled at his pet names. Flowers were pretty until they withered and died or some evil child came along and picked them. She ignored that cynical little voice and pasted on a grin dragging him off the dance floor and towards her friends.

There was only one chair left, so she repressed her distaste at gratuitous PDA and settled herself into her fiancé’s lap.

“So Buff,” Xander started around a mouthful of chips, “you ever gonna set a date?” They all laughed, Buffy’s a bit more strained than the rest. Why did they keep pushing her to get married? They’d only been engaged for a few months. Most people waited years.

“Actually,” Jonas interrupted her thoughts, “we were thinking about a May wedding in St. Tropez.” Buffy felt her smile, already pushing fake, freeze on her face.

“Were we?” she asked mildly.

“Sure, cebola, remember? I always wanted a wedding along the grand beach of St. Tropez, overlooking the Riviera.” Buffy widened her fake grin. Honestly, she wasn’t a master of languages, but she did know a little Portuguese and calling her an onion was not even remotely endearing. ch

Before she could respond, she felt a familiar tingle race up her spine. The one that said ‘vampire.’ _Her_ vampire. Spike. It couldn’t be.

Body tense, she slowly turned towards the source of her tinglies, praying against hope that the impossible had happened. But when she looked, there was no one there.

Disappointed, she turned back to her friends.


	21. Chapter 21

Spike took off running, towards something he couldn’t quite identify. But he didn’t stop. If he stopped, the truth would catch up with him. In the back of his mind, he felt Angelus following him, but he was far enough away that it didn't really register. He didn't want to think anymore. Didn't want to feel, didn't want to _know._

 

Alanna and Leto were enjoying some Italian gelato when a white-topped streak of black ran by at full vampiric speed. They shared a glance. Leto took off after Leto; Alanna headed back towards the club.

 

***

As her friends and fiancé talked around her, Buffy kept feeling more and more restless. The phantom feeling of Spike stayed with her, demanding her attention in ways she hadn't felt since right after the collapse of Sunnydale. Buffy drummed her fingers on the table. She wanted to get up and move. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to go out and beat the hell out of something just for the hell of it. She stood abruptly, bringing the conversation to a grinding halt.

“I’m gonna go get a drink, anyone want one?” she asked brightly. They all shook their heads, bemused at her sudden jumpiness, and she took off towards the bar. As Buffy waited for the bartender to take her order, a slightly tipsy red-head spilled her drink all over her arm.

“Oh my goodness!” the woman exclaimed. “I am sososososo sorry! I’ve had a little bit to drink and I just turn into a total klutz sometimes, and let me buy you a drink to make up for it because that’s just really unacceptable of me. What do you want?”

Buffy blinked at the hyperactive woman. She was kind of like Willow on a caffeine-high. “Ah...I-I don’t know.”

“Oh, I know. Hey, Bartender!” A barman was there in an instant. Buffy glowered at the immediate service; she'd been waiting for ages.

“Hi, can I get another bourbon and ginger, and Goldilocks here-“ Buffy started at the name and gave the redhead another look-“will have a Redheaded Slut.” Buffy shot her a baffled look, but the woman just smiled serenely. And then she zeroed in on Buffy’s ring. “OH. MY. GOODNESS. Look at that rock! Are you engaged, oh you have to be engaged, it’s so pretty! Who’s the man, I bet he’s absolutely wonderful. Oh, does he give you tinglies up your back when he walks into a room, knows what you’re thinking before you do, says all the right things, even though sometimes you really think they’re just wrong? Oh, I bet you just look STUNNING together. Oh, honey, you must be so incredibly in love, that ‘till-the-world-ends-and-beyond’ kind of love that consumes you, and every time your hands touch you burst into flames.” Buffy felt completely blind-sided, the woman's words striking close to home, opening up wounds Buffy had thought scarred over and forgotten. This had to be one of the most surreal moments of her life, and having dreamed about the cheese man, that was saying something. The woman grabbed Buffy’s hand and pinned her with a piercing gaze. “You’re a lucky woman to have the love of a man like that.” When the bartender arrived with their drinks the woman grabbed hers and walked off without a backwards glance.

Buffy stared down at hers. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Lucky.”

***

Leto found Spike in a bar, well on his way to getting trashed. Considering he’d only been off radar for about twenty minutes, that was a fairly impressive feat.

“Spike,” he said, and growled low in his throat when the younger vampire ignored him. Spike paused, bottle halfway to his lips.

“Pops,” Spike drawled, taking another long pull of whisky. Leto signaled the barman for a shot of tequila. “You gonna try t’show me tha errors of m’way?”

“One of the greatest lessons I can teach you, sonny-boy, is that sometimes you just need a good drink,” Leto responded as he threw his shot back. He grimaced. That was not good tequila. “I take it it didn’t go well then?”

“Sod off,” Spike snarled. He could feel Leto’s gaze on him, steady and implacable. It made him itch. Spike shifted under the weight of that gaze until he couldn't take it anymore and relented. “It didn’t. Go. At all. Saw the chit dancin’. She had a ring. And a boy. Her friends. She's...she's happy. Angelus said—” Spike went to take another sip of jack, but found the bottle wrenched from his grasp. Leto slammed it down, threw some money on the bar, and hauled Spike up by his collar.

Spike stumbled as Leto dragged him bodily to the portal and tossed him through. Vala looked startled as his abrupt appearance and shrank from the thunderous look on Leto’s face.

“Alanna will be through shortly,” Leto said curtly, before dragging Spike out the door. Vala nodded and shot Spike a troubled glance, feeling the barely-leashed anger radiating from Leto. Spike spared her an unconvincing smile before he was pulled out of the room.

They made the trip back to Spike’s apartment in silence, Spike’s entire inebriated attention focused on keeping him upright and moving. He was thrilled when Leto tossed him on the couch.

“Tell me everything,” Leto growled, “about Angelus.”

The look in Leto’s eyes sobered Spike up a bit. “Well, after I saw the schlayer...slayer,” he enunciated, “dancin’ with the ponce, Angelus popped up—” Leto growled darkly “—pops up and starts tellin’ me ‘bout Slayer’s shiny new life. How she’s happy and content and doin’ well. And she was. She was brilliant...radiant...like the sun shinin' on a dark city. An’ I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go in and tear apart the pretty life she made for herself...the one tha’ didn’t include me.”

Leto’s assessing gaze made Spike squirm uncomfortably. It wasn't right how young Leto made him feel. Spike scowled.

“And Angelus. What else did he say?”

“Nothin’ that wasn’t true.”

“Spike.” Leto’s eyes flashed gold and his command rippled over Spike. A Sire demanding an answer from his Childe. Spike shivered, wondering what it would feel like to experience Leto's dominance fully, with a blood-bond between them. Spike tried to hold out, but Leto growled and Spike broke, his alcohol-fueled emotions spilling out of him in an uncensored torrent.

“I can’t...I can’t be what she needs. I can’t be a man. I can’t take her out in the sun, take long walks down the beach, watch the sun rise or set. She loves him, doesn't love me, I hurt the girl, I’m not worth her it, not worth her. Never, no love for Spike, no girl, no sire, not worth it-” His self-effacing rant cut short when Leto pulled him up and pinned Spike against the wall.

“You listen to me, William. Angel was a fuck of a man and a fuck of a Sire. He didn’t treat you right, couldn’t seem to find enough time to teach you the Lore. He doesn’t deserve the _honor_ of being your Sire, and you are not his Childe!” Leto’s ire and anger towards Angel grew exponentially, dark and hot in his chest. Family ties were a cornerstone of vampiric life and politics; Angelus’ treatment of Spike had Leto's demon howling for blood.

“And why would he waste his time with me?” Spike demanded, breaking Leto’s grip on him. “Who else would have me? The only reason I’m here's cuz Dru was bug shaggin’ crazy. She wanted a doll, not me. Not really.” Spike collapsed onto the floor, too tired and drained to keep himself upright. His legs hurt, and a steady ache had started in his lower back.

Leto looked at the broken vampire before him, the man who had been abused and discarded by people he was desperate to please. Spike was complex, mercurial, multi-faceted; but his motivations were simple and finite.

“I would be honored to have you as a Childe.” Leto crouched down, eye-level with Spike. He waited until Spike looked at him, turmoil seething in his eyes. Leto let his demon come through. “I can think of no greater privilege.”

“You would—” Spike couldn't finish.

“Would you have me as a Sire?” Leto asked. Spike closed his eyes. He and Leto had declared their intentions, but Spike has always thought of it as a pretty promise, something nice to have but without the intent to follow through. Could he do it? Give up his connection with Angel, with Dru, completely sever the ties with his family? Spike realized with a startling clarity that they weren’t his family...not anymore. He hadn’t so much found a new family here at Haven as they had found him.

Spike turned away from Leto, trying to clear his head. The past year overwhelmed him, a roller coaster of acceptance, work, loss, anger, bitterness, despair—high highs and impossible lows. And with it, unflagging support.

“Spike?” Leto rumbled.

“Yes,” Spike whispered before he could take it back..

Leto closed his eyes and opened his link to his mate.

_I want to claim him,_ Leto projected, a flurry of emotions and images accompanying his mental words. _My Childe._

_Do it._ Alanna said instantly, no hesitation. Leto let his love for her spread through the link, warm and encompassing.

_You know what it entails._ Though he already knew what her answer would be, he still felt relieved at her acceptance.

_I love you. And I love Spike. He’s a good man, a good demon. He deserves this, deserves what you...what WE have to offer him. He’s already ours, amando, or else you wouldn’t have made the offer. He’s family. I know the ritual. You both have my blessing. And my envy. Now go make me a son._ Leto's mental laugh was melodious.

Spike was tense with anticipation. Leto hadn’t moved a muscle in response to his acceptance. Was he having second thoughts? This could be a cruel joke, and offer he never intended to fulfill or act upon. Before his doubts could take hold Spike found himself pinned against the wall, Leto’s true face inches from him. Spike panicked and tried to move, but a low growl stopped him.

“You know what you’re asking and what it involved,” Leto growled. It was his last out, he wouldn’t get another. Leto knew very well what Spike knew; he was responsible for the bulk of Spike's vampiric knowledge. Leto’s hips slowly rocked against Spike's.

“I do,” Spike said, a little breathless. “You taught me. Sire.” Leto growled and scraped his teeth along Spike's neck. Spike’s last coherent thought as he spiraled out of control was, “I bet Alanna's jealous...”

***

Sitting in his Wolfram & Hart penthouse, Angel brooded over his childe’s abrupt disappearance. He’d searched for Spike after he’d fled the club, tracked him to a bar, but his scent had abruptly stopped at the end of one of Rome’s many alleys. He had felt a tug to the West, but Spike once against seemed to be hiding from Angel.

Angel poured himself a glass of blood wine. He felt a wrenching in his gut, but ignored it.

Spike was too dangerous to let loose, he needed to be here where Angel could keep an eye on him and forestall any ill-advised attempts to contact Buffy. Angel absently pressed against his stomach, rubbing away the ache. He had plans in motion, delicately balanced schemes that he would not see waylaid.

The pain suddenly intensified, like a rubber band stretched to the limit. Angel let out a startled cry as the bond that connected him with Spike snapped...and in its place was nothing. He could no longer feel anything about Spike, but this wasn't death. He'd felt Darla die, even felt it when the Master was killed. Spike was still very much alive; Angel had just been supplanted. Replaced.

The glass of wine smashed against the wall and Angel howled his rage.


	22. Chapter 22

Alanna quietly let herself into Spike’s apartment. It was a complete and utter disaster. All of the furniture was toppled, she could make out the distinct outline of a body in the plaster of one wall. What looked like the remnants of a shirt was tangled around a lamp.

Following the trail of destruction, Alanna found her two boys curled up on the bed, Leto at Spike’s back, his arms protectively holding his childe. She had a short, unabashed ‘Aw’ moment, committing the touching scene to memory before they woke up. Spike's neck was a dark mess of bruises and deep bite marks, and Alanna winced in sympathy. They may have been fun at the time, but it was going to hurt like a bitch today.

Leto was the first to sense another presence, and his protective instincts for his new childe kicked in. Growling lowly, he opened tired eyes. He smiled as his muddled senses registered mate. He felt mild concern for the two of them through their claim and sent Alanna reassuring thoughts.

Spike stirred and their attention transferred to him. Leto tentatively felt for the new bond, still raw and fragile. They felt the moment he woke up and registered what was going on. Spike met nervously met Alanna’s eyes, concerned about her reaction to the ritual. He felt that he should somehow apologize to her.

“Alanna...” he began.

“Don’t worry so much beautiful. I’m not mad, not even close. Just concerned for my boys.” Spike smiled at that. As Leto’s mate, she was family, connected to him through Leto. She climbed into the bed and settled beside Spike, running her hands through his hair. “You mean a lot to us, amando. You’re an official member of the family now. So get some sleep. People’ll have questions in the morning.” She linked her fingers with her mate, and settled in beside her newest family member.

Spike inhaled her scent, storing it anew, and fell into a deep sleep feeling protected and loved. He was soon purring happily, sandwiched between two people who had come to mean the world to him.

***

Angel picked up the sleek silver phone that only dialed one number. His operative answered on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“Are you in place?” Angel asked, the need for revenge burning him. This was his fool-proof plan, a way to get at both Buffy and Spike. He smiled.

“I am.”

“You're a go.” Angel ended the call and crumpled the cell in his hands. He wouldn't need it again.

Malach gazed at his quarry through his binoculars. His smile was chilling.

***

Spike dragged himself, at Alanna’s insistence, down to the mess hall. All he really wanted to do was sleep some more, maybe grab a shower, and return to his sire. He was extremely tired and still dealing with the impact of the claiming.

He dutifully drank his blood and nibbled on hot wings when Sirra and Vala headed towards him with intent. He watched warily as they sat down across from him.

“So,” Sirra began, “tell us the truth. Is he as good as 'Lena claims?”

Spike’s eyes bugged, and he drew out eating his chicken wing as much as possible. Nothing was more frightening that a gaggle of women wanting to know something about one’s private life. But he would’ve sworn he heard Lena’s voice in his head telling him to go for broke. Finishing his wing, he allowed a slow, lazy smirk to crawl across his face. Leaning back in his chair, he hooked his thumbs in his belt loop, his spread fingers drawing attention to his crotch.

“Better,” Spike drawled.

A moment of stunned silence followed his proclamation, until Sirra let out a loud guffaw. The laughter was infectious, and after everyone had patted him on the back at least twice, they left, throwing cat-calls over his shoulder. He blushed, and felt feminine amusement in the back of his head.

Spike got the distinct feeling he’d just passed some kind of test.

***

Crap, she was late...again. Dawn hurriedly ran a brush through her long brown hair and slipped on a pair of shoes. She and Kevin, her boyfriend of a year, were supposed to see an old movie, some Italian masterpiece he claimed was the pinnacle of filmmaking. She stole one last look in the mirror before rushing from the room. She’d just slipped the key in the lock when a deep voice interrupted her.

“Miss Dawn Summers?”

“Yes? Can I...” And her world went black.


	23. Chapter 23

Buffy groaned and pulled a pillow over her head in a vain attempt to muffle the incessant ringing of her phone. Why hadn’t the machine picked up yet? She let out a thankful sigh when it stopped--only to curse when it started ringing again.

“This had better be apocalyptically important!” She growled into the receiver.

“Buffy?” Giles was using the same tone of voice as when he found out about a particularly nasty apocalypse. She sat up, the last vestiges of sleep already gone.

“Giles? What’s wrong?”

“It's...it's Dawn. The Council head in L.A. called. She wasn’t in any of her classes today, and she didn’t show up for her date with Kevin. No one’s seen or heard from her since sometime yesterday evening. She appears to be...missing.”

Buffy felt cold dread creep down her spine.

“Haven’t a bunch of slayers in the L.A. area gone missing?”

“Yes. But there’s no reason at all to think there’s a connection,” Giles said a little too quickly.

“Call Xander and Willow, I want them on this,” she ordered. General Buffy was on the case. “And book me the first flight to L.A.”

***

Her head was filled with cotton. There were voices all around her. It hurt to think. She needed water. She tried to move her hands, but couldn’t. Something was very wrong. She moaned and the dull throb in her head increased.

“She’s wakin’ up. Someone take care of her.” She could make out the voices now, understand what they were saying. A blurry face hovered over her.

“Hiya beautiful. Time to go back to sleep.” Dawn felt a prick and the world faded away.

***

Buffy walked into Council headquarters in L.A. with a determined stride. It was Tuesday night; her sister had already been missing for three days by conservative estimates. She was relieved to see Willow and Xander already there. By the look of things, they were already organizing the search for Dawn.

All movement stopped when she entered the command room.

“I want to know everything you do. Now.”

“Yes, quite,” Giles said. “Dawn was last conclusively seen entering her dormitory at 4:45 in the evening Monday night. She had a date with Kevin at 7:30, which she did not show up for nor inform him she would be missing. He went by her dorm room and found it locked. So somewhere between roughly 5 and 7:30 PM, Dawn Summers disappeared.”

“Locater spell?” Buffy directed the question to Willow.

“Didn’t work,” Willow replied. She’d grown in confidence and power since Sunnydale and spoke with the authority of a coven priestess. The shy awkward girl was a distant memory. “Nothing stronger worked either. Something powerful is blocking her.”

“Are we sure she’s still in this dimension?” Xander asked.

“Yep. No sign of inter-dimensional activity around her dorm, and the alarm didn’t go off,” Willow responded.

“Alarms?” Xander asked. Giles looked a bit confused as well.

“Ah, well, after that one time Dawn took a jaunt through space-time, I worked a ward into the ring Dawn always wears, the one Joyce gave her, so that if she ever, uh, got lost again, I’d know. Little alarms in my ears.” Giles looked impressed, and Willow’s face reddened.

“Well, since she’s protected from locator spells, we can be pretty sure she was kidnapped, and whoever grabbed her is big time. Which means the demon world knows something about it. I want everyone on this following every lead, no matter how small. Find my sister. Please.” Buffy walked brusquely from the room fighting back tears.

Willow caught up with her and wrapped her distraught friend in a bear hug. Buffy lost her battle, tears rolling down her face.

“We have to find her Willow. She’s all I’ve got left!”

Willow didn't ask about Jonas.

***

“Alright boys and girls, listen up!” Alanna barked. The group quieted, people finding their seats and the jovial atmosphere turning serious. Several of the operatives shot Spike assessing glances. Since the disastrous reunion that wasn’t and Spike's acceptance of Leto's claim—something he was still getting used to, having an active, present Sire bond in his head as opposed to Angelus' more negligent use of the bond—Alanna and Leto had been incorporating him into Haven’s outside operations. Currently, they were running point on a mission to take out a slavery ring based out of Los Angeles and they wanted Spike on point. The rumors were beings of great magical power were being auctioned to the highest bidder. And Haven was going to stop them.

“We've got confirmation on ten targets disappearing over the last two weeks. Two Seers, three slayers, and various mystical beings. They've disappeared from under our watch with no trace—so whoever is doing this is good. Powerful. They know how to cover their tracks.”

“We know where the auction is taking place. That's not the issue. The issue is getting in,” Leto took over. “To that end, we're sending in Spike as our eyes and ears on this one.”

“Great. A cripple,” someone murmured from the assembled crew, and Spike stiffened.

“Nah, it's nepotism,” someone else returned snidely.

A growl was their only warning as two Vash demons found themselves pinned to the floor by an angry Master Vampire.

“Get out,” Leto growled around his fangs. A sharp acidic odor filled the air, the Vash's natural defense system kicking in. “Now.” The demons moved out from under Leto, who watched them with golden eyes. The backed out of the room, stumbling over people and chairs until they hit the hallway and ran. Silence settled heavy over the room.

“If anyone else has concerns,” Alanna said, drawing everyone's attention to the front of the room, “have the decency to bring them up. We will not risk someone's _life_ because of a grudge.”

“Why Spike?” The speaker was human. His tone was even and curious and he didn't smell angry or confrontational. Alanna nodded towards him, and Spike wondered if this was staged.

“He's got credential; his name still carries weight in the demon world. He's not remotely associated with us in any way. And it's sink or swim time.” She directed the last statement to him, and Spike nodded his understanding. Alanna was definitely the tough-love parent. When people glanced at him now, it was with understanding. Spike ignored it all. He had a job to do.

“Now, if we've gotten over all the excitement, let's go over the layout and deployment, because if anything happens to my childe, _no one_ is going to be happy,” Alanna said with a dangerous smile.

***

“Six days, Giles! Six days, and we’ve got nothing. She's been missing for almost a week. No leads, no whispers...she could be dead! She can’t be dead, Giles!” Buffy yelled. Giles’s heart broke for his surrogate daughter. Despite her smiles and her relationship with Jonas, Giles knew she hadn’t truly been happy since Sunnydale. And, when he was being honest with himself, she hadn't been happy since the moment Spike sealed his fate in the cavern. He didn't know what to say to Buffy, how to comfort her anymore. She paced the length of the room in agitation.

Xander watched Buffy rant and Giles hunch in on himself, frustration eating at him. Every lead, every road, everything they’d tried had lead to nothing. Buffy’d even called Angel, though she hadn’t trusted him and his evil law firm. But even Wolfram and Hart’s resources had come up empty. And to make things worse, Angel came over to deliver the sad news himself.

An unspoken thought rippled through the group: if Wolfram and Hart couldn’t find anything, it was bad. Dawn may have vanished for good. A soft, soothing voice grated along Xander's nerves. He looked up and saw Angel caressing Buffy's shoulder, looking sympathetic and sad.

Angel.

Xander glared at his hulking form. He hated him. Not the way he had as a teenager, which was jealous and petty. No, there was something about Angel that Xander didn't like in a fundamentally human way. He smirked when Buffy shrugged off Angel's hand and stormed out of the room. It didn't take long for Angel to follow, pausing briefly to smirk at Xander over his shoulder.

Christ, Xander really hated that guy.


	24. Chapter 24

Spike stood wrapped in shadows, anticipation and anxiety warring within him. The market was a loud, buzzing place packed with so many different species that Spike had to consciously stop breathing. There were rows upon rows of stalls set up in a dimly lit warehouse. The entire affair was thoroughly disgusting, and Spike couldn’t wait to get out. There didn’t appear to be any sort of organization to the place, different species and types of slaves side by side...but he didn’t sense any slayers. This appeared to be a run-of-the-mill slave market.

Putting on a mask of indifference, Spike adopted the arrogant swagger that had always served him so well and set off to do his job. He walked the entire length of the warehouse, down every row and past every despicable display. Nothing. Until one trader caught his eye. He was better dressed than the others working here, and the salvers around him seemed to differ to his presence. Spike took a moment to study him under the guise of sampling one vendor’s ‘wares.’

“Ah, yessss, ze Valluk. Well trained. Issss to your liking, vampire?” a sibilant voice asked. The vendor turned out to be some snake-like demon with a thin, flickering tongue. Wait—well trained?

“Bloody hell, you’re saying it's a sex slave?” The thing was, to be nice, hideous. It looked like a mass of flesh with stalk for eyes. Spike shuddered at the thought of anything mating with that...thing. “I think I’ll pass.”

“You are making a misssstake.”

“Yeah, well, I think I can live with that,” Spike said dryly and moved off towards the vendor that had caught his attention. He stopped by a few slavers on the way, the distaste getting harder to hide, until he was standing in front of his target. Spike studied a muscled work slave.

“An immature Kolta. He has many years of work left before he'll become unmanageable,” the vendor said.

“Limited use? Seems like a poor investment.” When the man's oily smile was directed at him, Spike had to struggle not to wipe it off his face.

“Kolta need little food and will work tirelessly. But we have much more merchandise. See anything you like? We have it all, in every combination. I’ve got a few processing in the back if it’s not on the floor.” Spike mentally perked up at that. The back? This could be promising. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a huge wad of crisp bills, courtesy of the Haven bank. He could practically hear the man salivating as Spike counted out the hundreds.

“My tastes run a bit towards the more...challenging specimens,” Spike said with a leer. He let some of his demon come through. “Definitely towards the more dangerous. Catch my drift, mate?” Spike gave up counting and blindly pulled out some bills. The man’s weasel eyes bugged out even more, flicking between Spike’s best evil leer and the wad of cash he held out.

“Well, for a discerning customer such as yourself, we may have a few more lots in the back. Special auction, not for the general public, get it?” This time Spike’s razor grin was real. When they took this place down, this guy was his.

“Lead the way, mate.” The bug-eyed man scurried towards the back wall and had a hurried discussion with a piece of muscle. The oily smile was back and Spike could see dollar signs in the man's face.

“This here’s Muckluck,” Spike had to choke back a laugh. The man was nearly seven feet tall. “He’ll be taking care of you mister...” Spike arched an eyebrow and refused to give a name. “Ah, right. The Mister here is going to the _special_ showing room. Take GOOD care of him.” The lug didn’t even acknowledge, just turned a trudged through the door.

Spike followed his guide to a second story. He opened a door, and Spike could suddenly sense the presence of Slayers. A lot of them. The room must have been shielded by something strong; their initial scans hadn't turned up anything but the most rudimentary spells.

The special showroom was filled with individual cages. Spike counted twenty slayers of varying ages. On display and for sale. They were bound by vicious looking collars that must be suppressing their natural abilities. They all looked pale and haggard. One girl flinched back when Spike approached, and he could smell stale blood on her. He caught the glimpse of a dark red welt under her clothes. Spike’s anger was quickly spiraling out of control. He turned away, only to be confronted with the other lots: magical creatures, witches, and demons rare to this dimension....and Dawn.

What the fuck?

Spike froze. In the cage before him was his Nibblet, dressed in a flimsy scrap of robe and shackled to the floor. He wasn't even aware he was growling, his demon trying to claw its way out, eyes flashing amber. He wanted to take vicious revenge and retribution on those who had dared to touch his family. He felt, distantly, alarm from his Sire.

“She good,” Muckluck’s low gravelly voice said, and Spike whirled around, ready to rip his throat out. Something hauled him back, muted his rage enough so that he could think. Attacking Muckluck wouldn't save Dawn.

“I want that one,” Spike growled. Muckluck stiffened, on the offensive because of Spike's behavior. Spike didn't care.

“You have very expensive tastes,” a polished voice cut in. “You may go, Muckluck.” Spike spun around and came face-to-face with the man who had to be in charge. He was polished and poised, his expensive designer suit crisp and his smile obviously practiced. “This one is very special, one-of-a-kind. She’s the Key. The private auction starts tomorrow at midnight, she’s lot 78.” The suit handed him a card with Dawn’s stats and lot number, as well as an invitation to the auction. Spike balled both up and fixed the Suit with a glare.

“I want her NOW.” The Suit's smile became a bit more brittle, but he remained open and inviting.

“I’m afraid that’s not—”

“It IS, and you know it. How much do you want? Never mind, here’s a hundred thousand.” Spike quickly slapped the bills in the man's hand. Without bothering to wait, Spike snapped the lock on the cage and ripped the chains from the floor. Picking her up in his arms, he moved towards the exit.

“Sir! Sir, you can’t—” Spike let his full power as a Master Vampire flow free. The Suit faltered at Spike’s intense anger, his veneer crumbling in the face of Spike's wrath. “Sir, she’ll fetch several million at least at auction!” The commotion had drawn the attention of several other prospective buyers, and a plan (scary as that thought was) came to Spike. He felt Leto's sharp worry and blocked the connection; he wasn't supposed to do this, might be putting the entire operation at risk, but he wouldn't leave Dawn.

“I paid for her. Are you reneging on our deal? I was told you kept your word. What kind of an operation are you running, not delivering on your promises?” A murmur arose from the gathered buyers, and the Suit directed a nervous smile at them. Nothing Spike had said was false and all the gathered demons could verify that in one way or another.

“Sir, we did not—”

“My money is in your hand.” The Suit looked down where he was clutching Spike's fat wad of bills. More murmuring, this time with an angry underpinning. The Suit straightened, his bland seller's facade returning. His eyes glittered dangerously at Spike, promising retribution. Spike figured some serious muscle would be showing up at his fake lair tonight. Too bad he wouldn't be there.

“I’m sorry, there was just a small misunderstanding. Please accept our sincerest apologies,” the Suit said with a bow. With a nod, Spike turned and strode quickly out the door, the Suit still trying to placate the other buyers. Spike heard Muckluck's heavy footsteps following behind him across the floor. Once he was close enough to the exits, he dodged into the crowd, his goal to get to the rendezvous point as fast as possible.

Behind him, he heard Muckluck crash to the ground, and Spike caught sight of two of his backup tangled on the floor. Smirking, Spike settled Dawn more securely in his arms and ran.

***

Angel moved down the hall and stopped outside a door. He could hear Buffy’s voice, smell her tears. Two weeks and no sign of Dawn. Must really be getting to her. He took a moment to revel in her misery. He'd almost forgotten how wonderful human misery smelled; second only to stark terror.

Angel schooled his face into an appropriate expression before he gently opened the door. Buffy was wrapped up in Giles' arms, hiccoughing softly. Angel ached to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. To give her that false hope and security. Instead Giles was there, offering empty platitudes he believed with all his heart. Angel briefly imagined what they would do if he told them their precious girl was being sold that very night.

“Is she alright?” he asked over Buffy’s head.

“SHE can speak for herself,” Buffy hissed. “I’m fine. Why are you still here?” Angel stifled the flash of irritation at her dismissive tone. She was being unusually hostile; true, they hadn't been on the best of terms since he accepted the Wolfram and Hart job, but she was being overly bitchy today.

“I thought I’d stick around, see if I could help, maybe lend moral support, provide back up if we had to go in and rescue her,” Angel simpered. He tried to project sincerity and concern. Buffy's eyes narrowed. There was something...off with Angel. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something going on with him. But she couldn’t afford to waste her energy on him.

“We’re fine, I’m fine, we don’t need your help. This is Slayer Central, you know. We’ve got--“

“BUFFY!” Willow's excited yell cut her off. Willow burst into the room, her red hair flying behind her. “We...the phone...Dawn...SAFE!” Buffy took a deep breath, but couldn’t suppress the hope that rose in her chest.

“Willow, breathe and then try that again. Take two.” Willow’s eyes were bright and excited.

“We found her! Or, someone found her. They just called here, said they had her, gave us an address to pick her up, said she was drugged but was sleeping it off, but we were welcome to drop by whenever. Buffy! Dawn’s okay!”

Buffy slowly lowered herself into a chair, relief making her weak-kneed. Dawn was safe. Except. Except this was way too easy. No one just called out of the blue to return a missing person. Not on Buffy’s life. She let out a sigh as she reached the only possible conclusion.

“It’s got to be a trap.” She could tell Angel and Giles were thinking the same thing.


	25. Chapter 25

There was no one at the L.A. safe house when Spike got there, so he put Dawn in one of the spare bedrooms. She’d been drugged, probably to keep her complacent in front of the scum bags. Checking her breathing and heart rate, Spike decided she wasn’t in any danger.

First things first. Shower to wipe off the slave market filth he could feel clinging to his skin, report to Leto—who Spike could feel seething through the blocked bond, Alanna's worry close behind it—and look up the number of Slayer Central L.A.

In the shower, Spike realized he'd been scrubbing at his skin hard enough rub it raw. He dropped to his knees, the sound of them hitting the hard bathtub floor loud. Spike tried to focus, but the whiteness swirled in front of him. His barriers dropped and imagine of Dawn, small in her cage and shackled, tormented him. He felt something calm and careful touch his mind, a brush of reassurance.

_Come?_ Spike sent, too exhausted to feel ashamed of exposing such need and weakness.

_Of course._

***

Dawn groaned as she fought to get past the haziness that surrounded her. Her mouth was dry and she felt sluggish. Her arms and legs didn’t want to move. The past few days were blurry, and she could tell there were large gaps in her memory. She pushed herself into a sitting position, surprised to be in a bed. She had a foggy feeling of hard concrete and uncomfortable bars. She shuddered, remembering the stench of bodies pressed too close together. Fuck. FUCK.

Surprise gave way to panic as the implications of a bed set it. She may have been drugged the whole time, but she knew she hadn't been anywhere this comfortable in a while, and this was not the décor of her dorm room. Which could only mean she’d been sold. To some pervert.

She frantically searched the room for something that could be used as a weapon and settled for a fairly heavy, ornate lamp. There were footsteps coming down the hall, so Dawn ripped the cord from the wall and hid beside the door, lamp raised. The door opened, and Dawn scored a direct hit on the skull of whoever had just walked in. She raised the lamp to swing again.

“Bloody buggering FUCKING hell!” a very familiar voice swore. She let out a startled gasp and the lamp fell out of her hands. It couldn't...that wasn't possible...

“’lo Nibblet,” Spike said ruefully, rubbing his head. Dawn had grown up in the last few years. Spike waited for her to say something. Accusations, questions, hi how are ya, where ya been...anything. But all she did was stare, and Spike was starting to get worried. What if there WAS permanent damage. Spike's already frayed nerves were stretching thin, only the steady thrum of his Sire's support keeping him together.

“Bit? You okay?” He suddenly found himself with a sobbing, blubbering Dawn in his lap. Spike pulled her close, his own eyes stinging with tears. He rocked her, feeling broken and complete and totally confused. “Sssshhhh Niblett, it’s alright, you’re alright, Spike’s got you.”

——

Dawn watched Spike move around the kitchen as if he’d suddenly disappear. He was really here, in the flesh, not all dusty and buried under Sunnydale. And she wasn’t hallucinating; she’d pinched herself several times just to be sure. She’d woken up this morning chained in a cell and now she was free and sitting in a kitchen....with Spike. Spike, who was currently cooking her dinner.

“You sure you’re alright luv?” Dawn looked into his concerned blue eyes and felt herself tear up again. She’d missed him so much. Spike dropped the pan in favor of catching Dawn. “Dawn?”

“I’m fine. They didn’t touch me...well, that’s not true they kind of kidnapped me and then pumped me full of mind numbing drugs. But really, I’m okay...except oh my God, Kevin! I was supposed to meet him for a date...but that so doesn’t matter right now because how are you back from the dead? I mean, very grateful here, ‘cause you kinda saved me, but still, what’s up with that?” Spike put a steaming cup of hot chocolate and a slightly misshapen omelet in front of Dawn, effectively stopping her adorable but incessant babble.

Much to Spike’s utter astonishment, it was gone in exactly thirty seconds. “You want another one Nibs?”

“Sure. Right after you tell me how long you’ve been back.”

“Ah...well...see, the thing is I never, ah, I never actually..technically...left?” he hedged.

“WHAT?!” Dawn spluttered. Her eyes narrowed in anger. He’d been alive the WHOLE TIME--almost three years--and he hadn’t called them?

“Now Nibblet, before you go all Summers on me, let me explain—”

“Explain? Explain, Spike? What, how you’ve been alive for almost three years and never bothered to, I dunno, write a letter-granted that’s a whole FORTY-FOUR CENTS NOW-or pick up a phone or send me an E-MAIL. ‘Hi Dawn, how are you, how’s school, met any boys, and in case you didn’t notice, I’m not buried under Sunnydale, I’m kind of alive.’ No, but that would have been hard!”

“Dawn...” Spike clutched at the counter and closed his eyes. He reached for Leto and Alanna. They responded immediately, assuring him they were on their way. They'd been wrapping up the unexpected raid on the warehouse, pushed forward because of Spike's impulsive actions, when he called. But he didn't feel any censure from either of them.

“How could you?” Dawn demanded. “How could you do this? To me? To Buffy? It’s not--“

“DAWN!” Spike’s roar of frustration brought her tirade to an abrupt halt. “If you would just sit down and finish your drink, I will _tell you_ why I didn’t call.” Dawn, eyes wide, sat down heavily on the stool. “Thank you. So yours truly here WAS buried deep under good ole Sunnyhell, only some good Samaritans decided to dig me out. But I was right buggered, Nibs. ‘Parantly the slayer with ‘em had to make me feed just so I could stay alive. Was in a coma for nigh eight months.” Dawn let out a startled gasp. “Yeah. Anyways, came out of it, met these absurdly helpful people who started giving me therapy. I was in worse shape than when big sis dropped that damned organ on me. It was a long road pet, better part of a year before I was in fighting shape. And I was in a bad place for a good part of it, angry at everything. But Alanna and Leto—you’ll like them, they rescued me—they...they saved me. Again. Kept me going. They became real important to me real fast. And when I was back to bein’ me, back to walkin’ and fightin’, I went to Rome to find Buffy. Ran into Angelus on the way. Between him and seein’ that wanker she was marrying, well...”

“Jonas,” Dawn whispered distantly.

“That so?” Spike said flatly, not interested in knowing anything about him.

“Wait...you mean Angel knew? This whole time, he knew? That fucking bastard!” Spike started at Dawn’s language. She gave him an impish smile.

“Well, I always told you Peaches was a right prat,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, well, you were always my favorite.” They shared a bashful smile. Dawn blushed and looked down at the table, then up around the room. “Holy crap! What’s today?”

“It’s Thursday, pet.”

“Oh my God! Monday! It was Monday when I...they’re going to be so worried! Buffy’s probably out of her mind, and they don’t know where I am, and--“

“Calm down, Nibblet. I called the Slayer's council. Left an anonymous tip. They should be on their way.” Dawn’s look of relief was almost comical.

“Then tell me about these important people that saved you. And why you were at that icky slave-place.” Dawn mock-glared at him. After a beat, they both broke into slightly hysterical giggles. Spike felt slightly disconnected from the world, aware that he may not be operating on all cylinders.

They caught up on each other’s lives. Spike told Dawn about Alanna, Leto, Haven and her denizens. Dawn told him about UCLA, and Kevin, the boy she’d been dating fairly seriously. Spike, personally, wanted this boy’s head on a platter on principal.

They fell into conversation as if no time had passed, safely cocooned from the outside world until it came pounding on the door. Spike felt Slayer crawl over his skin and froze. He hadn't thought, when he called the Council, about what that meant. That Buffy herself would come for her sister. Of course she would. Probably had the rest of her gang with her. Back up. Spike stared at the door, fighting down panic. Fuck, what had he been _thinking?_

“Think that’s your ride Nibs. Prob’ly be best if you answered the door. Less liable to stake you,” Spike said, sounding detached and removed. Dawn frowned at him and moved cautiously to the door. Spike couldn't move, just watched as Dawn turned the knob.

Whoever Buffy was expecting to see on the other side of the door, her sister wasn't it. She was prepared to go in guns blazing, ready for a fight to get the location of her sister.

“Dawnie?” Dawn threw herself at Buffy, crying into her sister's shoulder. Shit, she thought she was all cried out.

“Was so scared,” Dawn gasped out.

“I know. Dawn, I was so worried! How...who did you...” Buffy trailed off, her attention fixed on the man sitting behind Dawn. Dawn pulled away and sniffled, turning so she could see them both.

“Buffy...” Dawn glanced between her sister and her undead best friend. There was something tense and palpable between them.

“’Lo Buffy,” Spike rasped. He was well and truly buggered. Buffy was here. In the same house as him. In the same room. Breathing the same air...that Spike didn’t really need to breath in the first place but whatever. This was not going to end well. So Spike put his cockiest foot forward. Directly into his mouth.

“Gonna come in and take a load off, or is this wam, bam, let’s go Dawn?” Buffy winced and Spike realized, belatedly, what his words sounded like. Spike shuddered, urging Leto and Alanna to get here FAST. He wasn't ready for this. He thought he had been, three months ago, but he was so very wrong.

While Spike was having his internal freak out, Buffy was having her own. Because Spike was here. Standing in front of her. He wasn't dead, buried under tons of rock in a giant sinkhole. Buffy felt like she was having an out of body experience and she moved farther inside...and closer to Spike. He would forgive her, she thought desperately, he always did. Because she’d be damned if she lived another day without making things right.

Seeing Buffy’s trancelike state, Dawn stuck her head out to address the other people Buffy had brought with her. “You guys can come in. It’s not a trap. Promise.”

“Dawn? Are you truly alright?” Giles materialized out of the darkness armed with a crossbow.

“Hey, Giles,” she said with a little wave, far peppier than she actually felt. Willow and Xander appeared behind them, flanked by a couple of slayers. Dawn noticed Angel lurking in the background and rolled her eyes. Typical. She led them all in the house where Spike and Buffy were busy staring at each other. She noted Angel had no trouble passing the house's barrier.

“Oh goddess!” Willow gasped. Spike's head jerked up and he looked like a deer in the headlights; Dawn reassessed her decision to invite everyone in. It was them against Spike right now, and them had never been very pro-Spike. “That’s...it’s...”

“Spike,” Angel said lowly. His eyes flicked to the sire's mark on Spike's neck and Spike resisted the urge to back away. Dawn started as Angel’s demon came forward, an animalistic growl echoing through the room. A shadow flickered over Spike's face and his entire demeanor shifted.

“Angelus,” Spike said, as evenly as he could.

***

Alanna and Leto were in the midst of negotiating the Arch Chancellor of Hell’s official stance on the slave ring, both of them itching to get back to Spike, when their childe's apprehension slammed into them through the claim. Alanna looked at Leto in alarm; she only ever felt an echo of Spike’s most intense feelings if she wasn't trying, and this was coming through strong and raw.

“Angelus,” Leto growled, his eyes flashing.

“We're leaving,” Alanna declared, angry that they hadn't done so sooner. She and Leto headed for the exit.

"With _respect,_ " the Arch Chancellor said haughtily, "it is _you_ who broke faith with _me._ We negotiated in good faith for your people to step in at—" Alanna spun around, letting the full breadth of her power roll over the crowd. The Arch Chancellor took a hasty step back, paling in the face of the Slayer's presence. Alanna stared at him unflinchingly for several seconds before spinning on her heel and leading Leto out of the room, the silence deafening in their wake.

They made their way back to the safe house as fast as they could, Spike’s growing sense of dread spurring them faster and harder. Leto tried to send assurance through the claim, but he didn’t think much would penetrate the overwhelming distress.

“If he touches Spike, he will not live to see tomorrow,” Alanna announced with deadly intent.

Leto wasn’t sure touching was required.

***

Angel’s eyes narrowed. His childe really had gone and found himself a new sire. And that was completely unacceptable.

“You're alive,” Angelus said.

“Undead, actually,” Spike corrected with false bravado. Knowing Angelus as he did, he would not take the loss of what he thought of as his lightly. And that could be very bad for Spike. He closed his eyes and felt for his Sire. He was closer.

“You should really learn to respect your elders, Boy,” Angel spat. Spike pulled himself up to his full height and Angel growled. Part of Spike wanted to submit to the older demon, but the larger part of him bristled. Angelus was not his Sire. He'd chosen another, stronger and more worthy. Spike growled back, not quite as commanding as he could be, but it was enough to send Angle spiraling into madness. “Worthless. Inexcusable. You made a fool of me, _William_ , and I do not appreciate that. At all. Years I've searched for you. You don't get to leave until I'm done with you.” The menace in Angel’s voice was cold and deep and promised a very painful vengeance.

“You...you knew he was alive?” Buffy asked incredulously “How dare you--“

“Shut up, Buffy,” Angel snarled dismissively. He’d deal with her later. Spike needed a reminder of who he belonged to, who had made him. Angel sensed the weakness in the boy.

Buffy opened her mouth to rip into Angel, but Spike softly called her name and shook his head. This wasn’t her fight, and he didn’t want her to get hurt. Besides, his sire was getting closer. He just needed to buy a little time.

“You seem a bit peeved Angelus. Somethin’ botherin’ you or you just feelin’ that giant stick shoved up yer arse?”

Angel growled low in his throat and Spike stopped himself from stepping back. How dare his upstart of a childe speak so disrespectfully? He would teach Spike the errors of his ways...slowly and painfully. He would do what he should have done when Dru first brought the sniveling thing home. He’d break him. Spike would know for the rest of his unlife, the length of which Angel would decide later, who he belonged to.

“Seems you’ve forgotten yourself, William,” Angel's voice took on an Irish tinge. “You. Are. MINE. You belong to me. I made you, I crafted you, I taught you everything you know. And no one will stop me from taking what is mine. No one.” Spike bristled at the words. He vividly remembered Leto's choice words about Angel and his 'teachings.' And Spike, quite frankly, had had enough.

“You taught me nothing. NOTHING. You taught me nothing of the lore, of what it means to be a childe and a Master, and especially—ESPECIALLY—nothing about _belonging.”_ Spike’s fear receded in the face of overwhelming anger. Dru had made him; she was just too barmy to take on the responsibility, so Angel had stepped in as sire. He tried to craft him into a copy of himself, but Spike had never found the same joy and arousal in the obsessive head-games Angel played. And Spike crossed a line, a line he hadn’t even known existed. The last vestiges of Angel’s influence in his life snapped and faded away. For the first time in his demonic existence, Spike was free. And Angelus was livid.

With a blood-curdling snarl Angel launched himself fangs first at Spike.


	26. Chapter 26

Just as Angel lunged for Spike’s throat, a black blur exploded through the door and tackled the enraged vampire to the ground. Spike watched as Leto held a struggling Angel to the floor and delivered a vicious blow to his kidneys. Alanna calmly entered the room, her eyes nearly black with repressed anger.

Leto slammed Angel's torso into the ground, who continued to struggle under him not registering the powerful signature of an Ancient vampire in his rage. Leto lowered his mouth right next to Angel’s ear and growled ‘Stop’ in his Sire's Voice. Angel had no choice but to obey. He stopped immediately, his demon completely submissive in the presence of family--very old and very angry family. His anger rose again when his mind processed what had happened and fought through his demon's instincts.

Seeing Leto had the situation well in hand, Alanna turned her full attention to Spike. He looked shell shocked and wan. She took in the others, Buffy, her sister, the rest of the people who had been important to Spike, and dismissed them all. Spike was her priority.

“Spike,” she called softly. When he didn’t respond, she gently raised her hand to cup his cheek. He jerked at her touch, then nuzzled into her palm, taking comfort in her scent. She smiled in assurance as a mess of emotions flew through Spike faster than she could track them. He pressed a kiss into her palm and smiled shakily at her. A loud grunt sounded behind them, and they turned their attention back to the struggle.

Leto allowed a shaken Angel to get to his feet. He placed himself between his Childe and the enraged vampire. Getting his first chance to size Spike’s ex-pseudo Sire, Leto found him sadly lacking. His lip raised in a sneer.

Angel could feel the power emanating off the vampire in front of him. He was old, and his blood was strong. But Angel wasn’t giving up. He fixed his gaze on Spike and smiled falsely.

“Spike—”

“Is mine,” Leto interrupted. He was done with this. His childe was suffering and this waste of space was going to try something. He could feel it, and his patience was already worn. He smelt wrong, tainted. He sent a query to his mate, and felt Alanna's agreement. Whatever he was feeling, she was picking up on it as well.

“Yes, I can see that,” Angel said tightly, “and I thank you for overseeing his... _training._ ” The word sounded dirty and shameful the way Angel said it. Alanna bristled, her hand finding Spike's unconsciously. “He’s hardly worth the time or effort and--”

Leto felt his anger snap and descend into the cold calm that had destroyed several cities in its time. He felt Alanna's withdrawal, leaving him alone in his icy rage. It was just as well; when both of them lost themselves to rage civilizations fell. “You will not speak of him again,” Leto said, his voice a low rumble. “I claimed him, I decide his worth and I decide how to spend my time. You dishonor me, Angelus, and I demand retribution. A life—as I value my own less than his.”

Spike squeezed Alanna's hand, the simple power of Leto’s words and the accompanying truth ringing clear through their bond.

_That’s a commonly held sentiment among several people,_ she whispered into his mind, filled with affection.

Angelus snarled at the insult. Fangs bared, Angelus lunged at Leto. He raked his nails down Leto's chest, drawing blood through his shirt. Leto roared and dealt Angel a stunning blow to his face, cutting open his cheek and sending him crashing to the floor. Before Angel could regroup Leto grabbed him by the lapels and threw him against the wall. Angel bounced off and propelled himself into Leto's stomach, wrapping his arms around the other vampire's chest.

The two vampires grappled with each other, crashing into furniture. Buffy and her friends were quick to move to the side, out of their way. Angry snarls and growls filled the room and blood splattered on the carpet, shallow wounds drawn by fangs and nails bleeding copiously.

To most of the observers, it seemed Angelus and Leto were evenly matched. In truth, Leto was playing with Angel. Drawing out the younger vampire, making him expend his energy in the fight. He had something far more devastating in mind for Angelus than simply killing him.

Leto's punches and bites landed with deadly accuracy, tearing into main veins and bruising the most painful places. Each strike enraged Angelus further, drove him deeper into his demon. Leto took deep pleasure in his grunts of pain, in the scent of Angel's blood driving his bloodlust.

His demon wanted to draw this out, continue the fight until Angel was bleeding on the floor, unable to move, but he felt Alanna's prodding and Spike's apprehension. With a speed Angel couldn't match Leto flipped them around, his arms pinning Angel flush against Leto's body, his neck exposed.

“As of this moment, you are submissive to my will. I am dominate, and you are nothing. You are the lowest of the low,” and Leto buried his fangs in Angel’s neck.

The sight of Leto biting Angel seemed to make Buffy think she should do something. She moved to break up the scene, but Dawn stopped her with a gentle touch. She looked pale and slightly sick, but seemed determined to watch Angel's comeuppance.

When Angel was almost completely drained, Leto dropped his pale form on the floor in disgust. He couldn’t wait to get the taste of him out of his mouth. He tasted tainted; whatever was influencing his behavior was in his very blood. Angel gasped and moved sluggishly, his movements lax and uncoordinated.

“He is...useless,” Angel gasped. “Pathetic.” Leto growled, the images he'd seen in Spike's mind so long ago coming back to him vividly. He was fully prepared to end the miserable excuse for a vampire’s life when Alanna stepped in.

“You are only what we allow you to be. And you are not welcome here,” she said coldly, her slayer side coming out. Spike swore for a moment her eyes were bright yellow.

“Weak. Worthless.”

“You are not welcome here,” Alanna said with deadly intent, taking a step towards Angel. But he kept pressing.

“He’s no better than a minion—” Alanna crossed the space between them in three strides. She stood over Angelus, eyes hard.

“YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!” A wind swept through the room, and Angel felt a thousand hands settle over his body. They all pulled at once, and he went flying out the door, skidding along the pavement. The door slammed with finality. He lay there, stunned, bruised, and bleeding. Everything hurt. A pain ripped through his body, and he knew. He could never go near Spike again, never speak to him unless Spike called him. Called HIM. He growled, and another pain ripped through him, punishing him for even thinking to disobey the one who now controlled him. It finally filtered through his twisted mind; he was dominated. He was owned...he was lower than a minion unless his _Master_ decided he was worth more. Angel arched off the ground and screamed, his entire body flooded with fire.


	27. Chapter 27

Everyone, Leto included, gawked at the closed door through which Angel had just disappeared. He turned to look at his mate, who looked beautiful in her angry glory, windswept hair wild and disheveled. But Spike took precedent. Leto took one look at him and forgot everything; his childe needed him. He grabbed Spike’s arm and hustled him down the hallway to the bedroom, trusting Alanna to deal with the fallout.

Once he’d shut the door, Leto pushed Spike onto the bed.

“I can feel you thinking,” Leto muttered. Spike closed his eyes and tried to withdraw, but Leto was insistent. He covered Spike with his body, encouraging him to open up, nuzzling against his sire's mark. Spike gasped when Leto's fangs slid into his skin, a sense of perfect peace and belonging descending over him. Their bond responded to the exchange of blood, solidifying and deepening. Leto only drank a little before baring his neck and encouraging Spike to drink.

A pleased purr erupted from Leto’s chest as they renewed the claim. Leto pushed his emotions through the link, letting Spike know in no uncertain terms that he _belonged._ Leto reluctantly let the connection ebb to its normal parameters and laved the marks closed.

***

Alanna calmly sat down in the nearest chair and waited for Spike's...friends (she'd go with that for now) to come to their senses. It was a blessing that they hadn’t tried to interfere. The shaggy-haired man, Xander she remembered, was the first to shake out of his stupor.

“That...was...AWESOME!” Xander exclaimed exuberantly. Ignoring that the scary dude in black was a vampire, seeing Angel so soundly beat and humiliated made Xander’s day. No, his year! “I've been waiting to see that so long. Um. Hi.” Xander waved to the equally scary chick staring at him from across the room.

“The, the way you kicked him out? That was pure emotional magic. I've never seen anything like that,” Willow said shyly, reverting back to long-forgotten habits at such an awesome display of power. Alanna arched an eyebrow at the witch, but otherwise remained silent.

Giles pulled out a handkerchief and began thoroughly cleaning his glasses. He’d have to rewrite his journal about this night several times to get all of the details down.

Buffy...Buffy was just in shock. She was trying to process everything. Spike was back, Angel was twisted, Spike apparently had a new sire, and how did that work? Questions raced through her head, no answers to be found. But one in particular stood out above all the others: why hadn’t Spike contacted her? She glanced over at the silent woman in the chair and found her looking steadily back. Buffy frowned, replaying the interaction between the red-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar and Spike. The looks, the touch, the kiss. She felt her stomach sink. They shared an...intimacy. That much was apparent. One that involved kisses and weighted looks. Spike had moved on...so what did that mean for her?

“You all might as well make yourselves comfortable,” the stranger said, sounding bored. “They're going to be a while.”

“Doing what?” Buffy asked, well aware that she sounded defensive. The smirk she got in response made Buffy bristle.

Xander and Willow gravitated towards one another, talking in hushed whispers and glancing at the stranger. Buff settled against the wall, trying to watch the woman without _watching_ her.

“Hey,” Dawn said and sat down next to her preoccupied sister.

“Dawnie...I'm so glad you’re okay. Oh, I’m so sorry, I just completely—”

“It’s fine, I’m fine, Spike saved me. And things here got a little crazy. Pretty neat, him being back and everything.” Buffy got quite, and Dawn had a feeling her sister was still coming to terms with Spike’s miraculous return. Which was really okay since she had had more time absorb the impact and still couldn't quite believe it.

“Yeah,” Buffy said dully. “Neat.” They looked up as Xander and Willow wandered towards them.

“So, who was the other vamp? And why aren't we running screaming from him?” Xander asked.

“Uh...” Dawn trailed off, glancing at the woman.

“‘That guy’ was Leto,” the woman spoke up. Her expression was blank, but her eyes were hard and assessing. “He’s Spike’s new sire. And yes, Spike’s back; he actually never technically left, but that’s a long story that you should probably hear from him.”

Everyone just stared at her, and Alanna began to wonder if their brains had been fried by life on the Hellmouth. For a group that used to save the world on a regular basis they all seemed singularly useless.

Dawn rolled her eyes and offered up a friendly, “Hey. I’m Dawn...you might know me as Nibblet or Bit.” Alanna smiled. She liked this one. She was just like Spike described: incredibly bright and delightfully feisty.

“I've heard quite a bit about you,” Alanna grinned. “Kitten poker?”

Dawn blushed. “Just the once!”

“Uh huh.”

Buffy scowled at her sister making nice with Spike's whatever. She folded her arms and stared down the hallway Spike had disappeared through, waiting for him to come back.

***

Leto held onto Spike until he felt like his charge was composed and calm.

“You alright?” he asked.

“You're welcome to get off me anytime,” Spike muttered. Leto laughed and snapped jokingly at Spike's neck.

“Respect your Sire,” Leto commanded.

“I respect you just fine,” Spike said with a grin. “Except when I don't.” Leto swore when Spike suddenly bucked upwards, sending him falling off the bed and onto the floor.

“Fucking twerp!” Leto complained, picking himself up. Spike laughed, deep and alive. Leto stood over Spike, growing serious one again. “Come out when you're ready. Not a moment before.” Spike's smile fell away, but the light didn't leave his eyes. Leto brushed his fingers over Spike's temples.

Leto ventured out into the common room and found Alanna in animated conversation with a young woman who had to be Dawn. The others were all standing around looking uncomfortable and awkward. Buffy, who he recognized from her file pictures, looked like someone had just killed her puppy.

 _How is he?_ Alanna asked, keeping up her conversation with Dawn.

 _Better,_ Leto answered, and sent her a complicated knot of impressions.

 _Yeah. Much better,_ Alanna said dryly. _Is he going to come out of his room any time soon?_ A quick assessment of Spike's mental state said 'not really.'

He decided to do his Childe and his future daughter-in-law a favor. He tapped Buffy on the shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Spike’s in the back room if you want to have a chat. And you really do. Want to go have a chat.” Buffy gazed at him with distrust. Which was fair and fine; she wasn't one of the oldest surviving slayers in recent memory for no reason, and she had no real reason to trust him. Leto shrugged and walked away, leaving her to make her own decision.

Buffy stared at the vampire’s retreating form, wondering why her slayer side wasn’t really adamant about killing him. She glanced down the hall and let out a resigned sigh. Might as well get the whole awkward reunion-slash-rejection over with.

“This is what people on death row feel,” Buffy thought sourly as she made her way down the hall. She took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. She took the muffled sounds that reached her ear as an invitation. Spike was sitting on the bed staring at the floor.

“Alanna, I don't—” Spike stopped abruptly. He hadn't expected Buffy. She was effulgent, framed in the door, the lights from the hall backlighting her. Spike stood up, nerves reasserting themselves. Buffy hovered uncertainly at the threshold.

“Please, come in,” Spike said, ushering her into the room.

He looked good, Buffy had to admit. Almost like he had a little bit of coloring to him these days. His blue eyes sparkled, his high cheekbones, and that mouth. She realized she’d been staring and said the first thing that popped into her head.

“She’s pretty.” Okay, not the most eloquent thing she could have said. And Spike was looking at her like she was on crack. AND she was blushing. Crap, this was not how it was supposed to go. “Your girlfriend. The redhead? She’s, ah, she’s pretty.”

Of all the curve balls his Slayer had ever thrown him, this one was a doozy. Spike had no bloody...redhead? She couldn’t mean Willow so that left...the stress of the night, seeing the Scooby, and the sheer turmoil of facing Angel, and Buffy’s assumption that he was dating Alanna of all people hit Spike like a freight train. And he laughed. Not the amused chuckle at Xander falling on his ass, or even the laughter of Xander realizing his latest girl was a demon...but full out belly laughs that hurt so badly, but just added to it. He caught Buffy’s affronted look and laughed harder.

“I-I’m sorry luv,” he said, wiping away tears, “but Alanna is so emphatically not my girlfriend the thought of it is funny. She’s like...and annoying big sister.” The relief Buffy felt was staggering. “So...how ya been Slayer?”

How to answer that question? She’d dreamed about this a million times, in a million different ways, and had a million different answers. But none of them were exactly right. Something was always missing. And she had never been very good with words to begin with. So she threw herself into Spike’s arms and hung on to him so he wouldn’t disappear again.

One second you’re waiting for a girl to answer a question, and the next thing you know, she’s tackled you onto a bed. Well, that was a better response than he’d had in the past. So he had to be dreaming. And if this was a dream, might as well go for broke.

“Buffy,” his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Buffy, luv.”

“Beautiful,” she breathed before he stole her breath away.

The kiss was the thing fairy tales were woven around. It started off as a gentle caress, lip against lip, and everything else fell away. Her tongue danced along his lips, begging for entrance, which he granted with a strangled moan. Their tongues danced, and for the second time that night, Spike felt a serene sense of peace wash over him. He wrapped his arms more firmly around her, and nipped at her bottom lip. She gasped in pleasure and kissed him harder, shifting so she straddled his lap.

Spike almost lost it when she settled over him. He was already painfully hard, and it wasn’t going to take much to push him over the edge and have him cumming in his pants like a schoolboy. And he really could care less at this point. He was kissing Buffy. HIS Buffy. Who was currently winding her hands in his hair and pulling him closer. She pulled away to take a breath, but before Spike could protest, she was nibbling on his ear.

Buffy found herself pinned against the bed, a very aroused vampire grinding into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and she could feel his erection pressing close. God, she wanted him. She'd waited so long for him, lived a lifetime of lies while he was gone. She was done pretending. Spike's hand snuck up her shirt, caressed the skin on her back.

“Honey look, out little boy’s all grown up!” a teasing voice cut through their lustful haze. Embarrassed, a red-faced Buffy vainly tried to straighten her clothes. Spike ignored her (weak) attempts to push him off.

“Die where you stand, Alanna!” he hissed. She just grinned and laughed more. “Bloody well drop dead.”

“Five minutes, love bugs,” she said flippantly, “or I’m sending Daddy Dearest in to drag you out, state of dress notwithstanding! Oh, and Spikeykins, you really need to work on your insults. You’re slipping.”

She breezed out of the room, leaving Buffy and Spike in a post-make out silence that some might call awkward.

“You’re not going back to that prat,” Spike said. At Buffy’s confused look, he clarified, “Your ball an' chain. Big, sparkly rock?”

“Oh, you mean Jonas?” Spike shrugged noncommittally. “He’s been gone for a while. Met someone who reminded me of what I really wanted. And needed.” She looked up a bit shyly, and the depth of emotion in his Slayer’s eyes was staggering.

“And...what is it you want and...need?” Spike asked with hope shining in his eyes.

“You,” she said softly, “always you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hoooooooly christcicles Batman. I cannot believe this is finished. No, seriously, I'm like...wow. I hope all of you who have been waiting for forever—and I sincerely apologize for that—for this story to be done find the conclusion worth the wait.


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